


no one can ever follow

by taywen



Series: Vineyard AU [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: High Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Daud, M/M, Minor Character Death, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme prompt:</p><p>
  <i>In a high chaos run, Corvo is left to drift in the Flooded District. For multiple reasons, he swears off killing- starting with Daud and his Whalers. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Except Emily dies and Daud and his Whalers whisk Corvo off with them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one can ever follow

**Author's Note:**

> made some minor edits from the version posted on the kink meme but I doubt they're super noticeable so yeah
> 
> posting this before I can start hating it again haha don't even look at me bye

The audiograph clicks off, the card ejecting and leaving the room in silence after Daud's confession.

He has a moment to register the unnatural silence - no creaking of dilapidated floorboards or shifting of cloth from the Whaler accompanying him - before:

"You want to atone?"

The words are spoken from just behind him. Daud freezes when he feels steel press against his throat. His hand is halfway to his own blade; he could transverse away, perhaps. But if Corvo wanted to kill him, he'd be dead.

"I do." It's just that he's not sure he can.

"You killed her," Corvo says.

"Yes," Daud says, thinks of a note thoughtfully left for him in the Void beside the body of his latest victim. He hasn't taken a single life since the Empress.

By all accounts, the bloody swathe Corvo's cut through the Overseers, Watchmen, street gangs and conspirators more than makes up for Daud's restraint. He supposes his Whalers have been added to the list; but Rulfio's splayed on the ground where he was standing guard, his chest rising and falling, when Daud glances over.

Then there is, of course, the fact that Daud is still standing instead of bleeding out on the floor or collapsing into ash.

"They've holed up on Kingsparrow," Daud says after the silence drags into minutes. "After you washed up here, I had some of my men investigate."

"Emily?" The name comes out raw.

"Is with them. Havelock, Martin and Pendleton," Daud clarifies.

"You could have collected quite a bounty," Corvo says.

"I could have." Daud risks a glance over his shoulder, but of course Corvo's still wearing the mask that leers out of nearly every wanted poster plastered across Dunwall. Corvo's blade presses harder against his throat.

"You want to atone," Corvo says again, but it isn't a question this time.

 _I don't think I can_ , Daud thinks. Aloud, he says,  "Yes."

"Help me save Emily."

"What of my men?"

"Alive. Unconscious."

Daud exhales. The trio of men he'd sent to investigate Slackjaw the day that the Lords Pendleton were murdered never made it back; the only trace the team he'd sent after them had found were bloodstains on rooftops and discarded blades. But Rulfio is alive; against all odds, _Daud_ is alive. Why would Corvo lie about the rest?

"I'll do what you ask."

The blade disappears; Daud finds himself relaxing minutely. "I need to get to the Hound Pits Pub," Corvo says.

"Is that where the Loyalists were hiding?" It makes a certain amount of sense; the Old Port District has been quarantined and deserted for months, and Daud does recall hearing that Havelock owned the pub.

"Yes." Corvo's footsteps are nearly silent over the floorboards; when Daud turns, he's studying the faces tacked to the wall. Most of them are dead.

"I'll send a team to search the area," Daud says. "We should plan our attack on Kingsparrow in the meantime."

Corvo glances at him over his shoulder and Daud has to repress the urge to shift under the scrutiny.

"I said I would help you," Daud snaps and immediately regrets doing so.

Corvo raises his hand, pulls off the mask and pushes back his hood. His hair is filthy, matted with grease and blood and Outsider knows what else. His face is creased and dirty, a half-healed scar on his cheek.

Burrows wanted Corvo to take the fall for Jessamine's assassination. He'd congratulated Daud on the improvisation. Daud might kill people for a living but he doesn't consider himself to be a particularly sadistic person.

Corvo looks exhausted, but mostly he looks angry.

"We'll need a ship," Corvo says. His mouth twists. "My driver doesn't have a big enough boat, and who knows where he is now."

"I have someone in mind," Daud says. "I'm going to summon a Whaler and have them contact them."

Corvo nods, stalks to rickety balcony beyond the office. His left hand hangs loose at his side, but his right is still clenched around his sword.

Thankfully, some of his assassins remain conscious. Daud summons several of them and issues his orders. The Whalers look from Rulfio's prone body to Corvo, who is making no pretense of his surveillance, to Daud himself, but they don't argue.

"You should rest," Daud says after the last of them depart, the most senior with Daud's key in hand. He doesn't envy them the journey: of late, the sewer has become infested not only with river krust, but weepers as well.

"I slept for hours."

"It's not the same." Daud shrugs and turns away. "I have the plans for Kingsparrow Island somewhere..."

* * *

 

Corvo paces the deck of the Undine restlessly, turns after twelve paces with a military precision and stalks twelve paces back only to repeat the process again and again. He isn't wearing the mask, but the expression on his face is enough to set the other passengers on edge.

The Dead Eels give him a wide berth, muttering to themselves and casting frequent glances at him. Corvo has the prow to himself, while the Whalers that had recovered enough to join them are ranged alone or in groups around the ship.

Corvo's expression had closed down completely when Thomas reported that they'd found three corpses at the pub: Lydia Brooklaine, Wallace Higgins and Callista Curnow. He'd stared at Emily's note with something resembling reverence, and spread her massive drawing across the floor carefully. Daud was glad they'd left it behind; the childish rendition of Corvo's gruesome mask was... disturbing.

Daud isn't sure what he was expecting from a child who'd witnessed her mother's murder then been held for months in a brothel, but that wasn't it.

"This is as close as we'll go," Lizzy says, bringing the Undine to a halt behind a large outcropping of rocks. Any closer and there's no cover; they'd be seen immediately. The only reason they've made it so far, Daud thinks, is because of the storm lashing down around them. "We'll wait here for as long as possible."

Daud nods. Lizzy's gaze darts to the side, and Daud realizes that Corvo's standing beside him. He has yet to replace the mask, which hangs at his belt. Whether he transversed there or approached the wheel in a more mundane manner, neither of them noticed.

"Let's go," Corvo says impatiently.

They go.

* * *

Corvo spares Martin, leaves the High Overseer's body slumped in the control room and heads to the gatehouse. Daud imagines he would have spared Pendleton too, but the aristocrat succumbs to his wounds.

Corvo's mouth is twisted with some emotion Daud doesn't recognize when he glances over; it is not regret, or anything like that. Annoyance, perhaps.

He pulls his mask on, turns away from Pendleton's corpse and stalks away up the stairs without a word. The Whalers have already cleared the upper levels, and they climb to the elevator without incident.

"I'm going alone," Corvo says after the elevator shudders to a halt.

Daud considers protesting, then thinks better of it. He steps back from the open door pointedly, leaving Corvo to exit by himself.

"Good luck," he mutters, tracking the man's progress with his eyes as he transverses away. He passes out of Daud's void gaze a few moments later; Daud blinks, shakes his head to clear the sight away. "Watch for guards," he orders the Whalers that accompanied them up, and takes a position at the foot of the stairs himself.

* * *

Emily falls.

Havelock doesn't.

The ringing in Daud's ear must be his imagination; Emily's scream has long since faded, gone as quickly as the brief flash of her (still clad in some delicate white outfit, still just a child) plummeting past their position. None of them had the chance to react, much less try to arrest her fall.

No one says anything after Patrick, the one closest to the edge, confirms what Daud already knew.

Corvo drags Havelock's unconscious body back to the elevator; the clanging of Havelock's heels against each and every step precedes his appearance. Havelock drops to the landing with a final sort of thump. Corvo stands there, eerily still, his mask betraying nothing. His hands are clenched so tightly the knuckles are white. The mask's eyes seem to bore into Daud.

"Bring him," Daud orders, jerking his head at Havelock's crumpled form.

His Whalers hesitate, leery of approaching Corvo. He's on the verge of snarling at them to do it _or else_ when Thomas carefully steps forward, obviously watching Corvo for any sign of movement. He kneels slowly, gets Havelock's arm over his shoulders, then rises. Rulfio takes his other arm; Havelock is too large of a man for any one of them to drape over their shoulder.

Corvo turns his head to watch them, but otherwise does not react.

"Let's go," Daud says. His men file dutifully into the elevator; Corvo makes no move to follow. "... Go ahead," Daud says, and one of them activates the switch.

"Attano," Daud says, then, "Corvo," when that fails to garner a response. "Lord Protector," he finally barks, violence in his voice. Corvo's head snaps around, his posture straightening to something like attention. His fingers curl and uncurl restlessly, but still he does not speak.

Daud stares at the mask. He half-wishes Corvo would take it off again, but he doesn't want to see Corvo's face either.

The lift mechanism reactivates and they both flinch in surprise. The elevator returns a few seconds later, empty.

"We're leaving," Daud says in a tone that brooks no argument.

"I let her fall," Corvo says in the same tone he used when he told Daud _you killed her_.

"You couldn't have done anything," Daud says, hiding his growing unease. "Havelock-"

"I was choking him out and Emily-" Daud can't quite conceal his flinch as Corvo's voice breaks on her name. "I let her fall," Corvo says again.

"We have to go," Daud says, more forcefully. "It's almost shift change and we can't stay here forever." He reaches out, telegraphing his intentions, and closes his hand on Corvo's shoulder. He is tense but doesn't resist when Daud guides him into the elevator.

"We can try to recover-" _the body_ , Daud doesn't finish.

"No point," Corvo says. "She's gone." He slumps against the glass, pulling off his mask and hood in one practiced motion. It dangles from his fingers carelessly, leering at Daud in profile; it's better than looking at Corvo's hopeless expression. "There was never a body after- Coldridge."

Daud doesn't say anything.

"That's what I earned first," Corvo continues. His eyes are blank. "Shadow kill." He tilts his head, stares unseeing through the glass. "Then I learned how to summon rats. Sometimes the corpses didn't disappear right away, but the rats would take care of it." His mouth twists. "He said I didn't have to kill, but what else are these damn powers good for?"

"Do you want Martin brought back as well?" Daud asks. His left hand aches, and he realizes that he's been clenching it for who knows how long. He deliberately relaxes it as the elevator reaches the bottom.

Corvo blinks. "No. Yes. I don't care."

* * *

Lizzy's still waiting; the Dead Eels silence their muttering about the two extra passengers when she snarls at them to _shut the fuck up_.

"I owe you," Daud says as the Undine pulls away from Kingsparrow Island.

"Doubt you'll stick around long enough for me to collect," Lizzy says. She waves a hand dismissively when he opens his mouth to protest. "If you're staying in Dunwall, fine. Just figured you'd get the hell out of here after- well." She glances at Corvo, standing motionless in his tattered, bloodstained coat at the prow of the ship. "We heard what happened to the Empress." Lizzy sneers. "Us girls hardly ever come out ahead in these games."

Daud means to make some comment about Lizzy doing well for herself but what comes out of his mouth is "He didn't mean for her to fall."

"Sure he didn't," Lizzy says. "Doesn't change the fact that she did."

"Drop us off back at the Flooded District," he says.

Lizzy looks at him. "'Course."

* * *

The refinery is still full of weepers, remnants of Corvo's newfound mercy. Daud considers dropping Havelock and Martin down there, but they wouldn't survive the fall and he doesn't do things like that anymore besides.

He takes them to the storage facility where he'd imprisoned Corvo instead. It's not really necessary, but he finds himself dumping Martin in the same tank as the deceased Overseer. Havelock gets Corvo's rat-infested container.

"Guard them carefully," Daud orders the trio of Whalers that accompanied him. "Don't let them escape under any circumstances. Break their legs if you have to." What remains of the Loyalists lack the resources that Corvo had, and Daud owes them nothing: they won't be escaping.

Two of his assassins take up positions just beyond the containers, and the third - Rinaldo - accompanies him to the top floor of the building.

"I'll send a team to relieve you in a few hours," Daud says; when Rinaldo nods, he transverses away towards their hideout.

* * *

Corvo is in his bed, curled into a ball around that damn mask as if it's some stuffed toy when Daud gets back to the Chamber of Commerce.

Daud stares as Corvo's back rises and falls with his steady breathing; he seems to be deeply asleep, or else he's very skilled at pretending. He finds himself hoping it's the latter.

Thomas scuffs his boot against the floor, drawing Daud's attention. He casts a final glance at Corvo: his filthy hair splayed across Daud's pillow, the furrow of his brow even in sleep. The fingers of his left hand twitch; is he dreaming of the Void?

Daud transverses to Thomas and ushers him into the office of some clerks or other across the hall from his room.

"He said he would find his own place to sleep," Thomas says, his tone faintly apologetic.

"It's fine," Daud says even though it's not. It's probably for the best if Corvo doesn't bunk with the Whalers. Daud can take Billie's old room; it remains abandoned even though Thomas has been promoted.

Thomas nods. "Will we be leaving Dunwall?"

He'd had vague plans of doing so after things were resolved. The events of the past week have shown that he has no taste for assassination anymore and, if he's honest with himself, hasn't since long before he murdered the Empress.

The plans had been vague, though, because Corvo hadn't spared anyone who stumbled into his path, and while Daud had been willing to beg for his life, he hadn't expected anything to come of it.

"There's nothing left here," Daud says. Oh, everyone with the slightest drop of Kaldwin blood is probably already stirring, and he could make a killing eliminating various rivals but he has no interest in doing so.

"Where will we go?"

He hadn't given the future much thought, other than a desire to leave Dunwall and never return should the opportunity prevent itself. The destination was immaterial, unimportant.

But Daud doesn't hesitate when he says, "Serkonos."

* * *

 

Daud can't sleep. His thoughts circle endlessly around the events of the past few days: Corvo's sudden mercy, his own decision to help the former Lord Protector, Emily's fall... He tries to focus on the future, on his plans to leave Dunwall behind forever, but he keeps returning to the disquieting knowledge that Corvo had chosen to sleep in _Daud's_ bed rather than find some abandoned apartment away from the Chamber of Commerce. The Flooded District has plenty of those, and most of them don't even house weepers.

The rain continues to fall; the heavy clouds show no sign of letting up any time soon. Were Daud a romantic, he might think the world was mourning Emily Kaldwin's death. But he deals in reality, in cold, hard fact. Dunwall is a ruthless, ruined city: no place for little girls or even grown, bloody-handed men. It was ruined before the Loyalists freed Corvo from Coldridge and it would have remained ruined even had Emily ascended to the throne.

(Daud wonders, sometimes, if he was the one to ruin it. The plague had already sunk its claws into the city but the harsh measures enforced by Burrows did nothing to alleviate matters. And it was by Daud's hand that Burrows came to hold the reins to the city.)

He sits on the edge of the roof, standing to pace a few steps occasionally to keep from dozing off. He tracks the paths of the Whalers patrolling around the Chamber of Commerce because the alternative is peering through the collapsed portion of the roof to check that Corvo is still asleep in his bed; there are some lines that he refuses to cross.

Daud himself could find one of those abandoned apartments littering the Flooded District, for that matter, but- he doesn't. He tells himself it's because his men need to know where to find him if anything happens, but the true reason is more complex than that, and he has no interest in deciphering it.

He's dozing again, the steady pattering of the rain soothing enough to make him drift, when a section of brick on the building opposite finally gives way and splashes into the water below. He jerks awake, scanning the surrounding area with a hand on his blade, but there is no one around but the Whalers.

When he gives in to the urge to glance into his office, his bed is empty.

Irrationally, worry rises within him but Daud dismisses it immediately. Corvo can take care of himself, wherever he has gone. And if he's left for good, that's even better: one less complication for Daud to deal with.

He drops down into the sleeping area, strips off his sodden coat and boots, peels off his gloves and trousers. His shirt is dry enough. He turns the blanket and pillow over, and lies down. The bed smells, faintly, of blood; but Daud is not unused to it. He falls asleep in minutes.

* * *

The scuff of a boot against stone and the softest whisper (a feminine voice that he vaguely recognizes) wake him an indeterminate amount of time later. The rain has stopped, but the dark clouds linger. He assumes it is still night, or early morning, since no one has woken him to deal with- everything.

The whispering continues, too soft to distinguish individual words but regular enough to keep him from sleep. The voice isn't one of his Whalers', though he doesn't know who else it could be. A glance around with his void gaze reveals Corvo perched on the statue of Empress Jessamine.

Daud blinks, dispelling the vision, and stands. His coat has had little time to dry, so he pulls on a spare and a new pair of trousers before transversing up to the roof. He approaches the overhang slowly, though he doesn't take any particular care to move silently.

"Why have you brought me here again? Am I meant to forgive that man for what he did?" the voice whispers as Daud reaches the end of the roof. With a shock, he realizes it is Jessamine's voice, without the fear and stress that had underscored her words when Daud killed her. He's heard her speak in public once or twice, or listened to a recording; her voice, now, is soft and intimate. The words themselves are-

"I don't-" Corvo's voice breaks.

"She fell and her last thought was your name."

A choked sob escapes Corvo's mouth, tears raw from his throat. The sound is loud in the stillness; the Whalers, if they are about, have made themselves scarce.

Daud hesitates a moment before transversing to the statue.

Corvo's holding the strange clockwork-and-flesh heart they'd found in his breast pocket when he washed up in the Flooded District in his left hand and his mask in the right.

The heart had sliced Kent's hand to the bone through the thick protective glove when he'd tried to take it off Corvo's unconscious body. At that point Daud had decided to leave the damned thing in Corvo's possession. It had glowed more yellow than green in Daud's void gaze, anyway; a gift from the Outsider, he'd assumed.

"He did not catch her," the heart says. It thumps steadily in Corvo's hand, a sick mockery of a heartbeat.

Corvo jerks upright, the mask falling from his fingers as he goes for his sword. Daud spreads his hands, tilts his chin back when Corvo presses the blade to his throat. His tethering catches the mask before it can hit the water below.

"His hands do violence," the heart says. "But there is a different dream in his heart."

Corvo's eyes are red-rimmed but clear; there are tracks of marginally cleaner skin beneath them. Daud wonders when the last time he washed was; the stench of blood hanging around him is strong. His hands and blade are stained with it. The fabric of his right sleeve is dark, damp-looking.

Daud doesn't ask about it. What he says instead is, "I intend to return to Serkonos." Adds, "With whoever decides to accompany me."

 While Billie had acted alone, he knows some of the other Whalers harbour similar sentiments. They disagree with his refusal to take new killing contracts, among other things. Those like Thomas, who remain staunchly loyal, will probably come with him.

Corvo turns away, returns his blade to his belt. "Why Serkonos?"

"He has spent eighteen years in Dunwall but he still considers Serkonos to be home," the heart says.

"The weather isn't so terrible," Daud says as Corvo looks down at the heart.

"How will you get past the blockade?" Corvo asks.

"The whaling ships come and go. We can sneak aboard. There are other means as well."

"'We'."

"Myself and whoever decides to accompany me," Daud says.

"The last thing the... Empress felt was his blade," the heart whispers.

His nails are blunt but they send a dull flare of pain up his arm where they're digging into his palm all the same. The bite of the mask's metal plating and wire into his right hand is sharper. He forgot to put gloves on.

"Preparations should take several days," he says gruffly. "No more than a week."

Corvo looks at him for several long moments then nods once, slowly, as if coming to a decision. What he says is, "My mask." He holds his hand out expectantly. Daud gives it to him.

The mask goes on and Corvo turns away. He transverses to one of the walkways the Whalers had put together when they'd claimed the Chamber of Commerce as their base of operations.

"No!" the heart says, loud enough to carry across the distance, in the space between Corvo's transversals. "There is no turning back from the path he has chosen!"

Then Corvo is gone, disappearing over the rooftops.

* * *

The trio of men that he'd left to guard Havelock and Martin are crumpled, unconscious, on the floor of the storage facility when Daud arrives.

Of Havelock, there is no sign. There are, however, several new and still-tacky bloodstains on the floor of the lower level, and there is the sound of crunching that comes with feasting rats - or, in this case, hagfish - rising from the flooded ground level.

His void gaze reveals a swarm of the fish, and blood spreading from it.

 _One less complication,_ Daud thinks, and goes to check on Martin.

The High Overseer is just regaining consciousness, conveniently enough. He blinks, squints in the dimness at Daud. Recognition comes a moment later, followed not by despair or fear or even anger, but a flat sort of resignation.

"I suppose it's too much to ask for you to put a bullet in my head," Martin says.

"Corvo left you alive," Daud says.

Martin's lip curls back in a sneer. "He left Havelock alive too. For a time." He falls silent; Daud does nothing to break the tense atmosphere. "If you're having second thoughts about a life of murder, I'll gladly accept a gun and do the deed myself," he says at length. "You can think of it as a mercy compared to what Corvo will do to me, if you like."

Daud frowns. "He left you alive for a reason," he says again.

Martin looks away, to the empty side of the storage tank. Overseer Franklin's body has been pushed to the far side, as much space between them as physically possible. "Have you only traded one master for another, Daud? Though I suppose Corvo is marginally more palatable than Burrows."

Daud narrows his eyes, very much aware that Martin is trying to goad him. It's working. "I would let you go, but I have a feeling you'd only use the opportunity to end your own life."

"I've failed quite spectacularly," Martin says. "There really isn't anywhere for me to go."

"There's always the Abbey," Daud says.

Martin scoffs. "No. I can't go back."

"How noble of you."

Another scoff. "Speaking of _nobility_ , is Pendleton dead? Your men didn't let Havelock and I exchange more than a few words. And there was no chance to speak with him after Corvo came."

"Shot in the skirmish between the two of you. He bled out when we reached the gatehouse."

"A shame," Martin says; there is genuine regret there, which surprises Daud. "I would have liked to kill him myself."

Ah. Of course.

"You didn't seriously think betraying your assassin was a good idea, did you?" Daud asks, stepping away from the edge of the container. He is tired of watching Martin's face. His men remain insensible when he glances at them.

"If the damn boatman had done his job properly-"

"You blackmailed your way to the position of High Overseer but you couldn't stoop to dirtying your hands with poison?"

"He didn't trust us, not really, not like he trusted Samuel," Martin says bitterly.

Daud doesn't reply to that. On the floor above, Rinaldo groans, the sound echoing down. One of the two Whalers on the floor with them begins to stir.

"If you're thinking about trying to escape, just know that I've told my men to break your legs like your unfortunate fellow Overseer," Daud says.

Martin looks furious more than anything when Daud glances in the container, but he doesn't say anything. Daud shrugs and goes over to the waking Whaler.

"Daud-" The man scrambles to his feet when he finds Daud looming over him. "I- Corvo knocked us out-"

"I know," he says. "Try not to get in his way next time."

* * *

 

The next few days are consumed by planning their escape from Dunwall. As expected, not all of the Whalers intend to accompany him; arranging for any number of people to be smuggled past the blockade is a problem, but the smaller their company is the easier it will be.

The Whalers patrolling the edges of their territory report seeing Corvo from time to time, but only from a distance. Daud barely leaves the area immediately surrounding the Chamber of Commerce, so he doesn't see the former Lord Protector at all.

The city is already tearing itself apart. No one is quite certain who has the strongest claim to the throne; no single noble family still standing is powerful enough to keep it even if they try to claim it. The Boyles might have done it through wealth and charisma, or the Pendletons could have managed with their influence in Parliament- but there are few survivors of either family left. Esma Boyle's daughter would likely be little more than figurehead and the last of the Pendletons (Celia, as the youngest Pendleton brother had whined) is beyond the quarantine.

The City Guard completes its descent into an entirely mercenary group, various squads and individuals working for the noble who can pay them the best. Without the dead counters to arrange for the transport of plague victims, the corpses are piling up in the streets. The plague is running rampant. The city was rotting before, but the accelerated decay that the scouts describe is shocking all the same.

Some desperate people have retreated to the Flooded District; they're sure to catch the plague in no time, but there is no fighting for dominance in this ruined area. Daud has the Whalers repel anyone who attempts to encroach on their territory, though Corvo is allowed to pass through freely.

Certain areas of the city remain functional. The Abbey has, by all accounts, become a stronghold; the Overseers have complete control over the Distillery District with the Bottle Street gang decimated by the plague and leaderless. Daud isn't entirely certain what happened to Slackjaw; he doesn't waste any men investigating the matter, however. A group of nobles has taken Kingsparrow Island; another holds Dunwall Tower. Drapers Ward, apparently, has settled into an uneasy truce: the Hatters and the Dead Eels are currently working together to ward off any interlopers.

He wonders how long that will last when the scouts report the state of the city, but it's a fleeting thought. As soon as they can leave this city, these feuds cease to be his problem. The Whalers planning to stay behind are already making contact with various parties, but Daud doesn't pay them much attention either.

The one conflict that interests him is the succession struggle of the Ramsey family. Jack Ramsey was murdered by Corvo, along with the majority of the attendees of the last Boyle party. Whale oil is in high demand, and with the Rothwild Slaughterhouse still out of commission, Ramsey's is the only major slaughterhouse getting anything out.

Ramsey's son is fighting with his uncle over who'll assume control of the slaughterhouse. The son agrees to smuggle them onto the next whaling ship that comes into port in exchange for eliminating his uncle.

The assassination goes off without a hitch, which is all Daud can hope for, really. At least something happens according to plan.

* * *

Daud goes to sleep in his bed and opens his eyes in the Void. He doesn't sigh, but it's a close thing. The setting is Kingsparrow Island, the lighthouse and surrounding fortress cross-sectioned and floating at random intervals around his own little island. He is, he realizes, standing atop the unfinished portion of the lighthouse.

The Outsider is floating at the edge of the walkway. Daud imagines that this is where Emily fell.

"One last fix before swearing off killing entirely, Daud?" the Outsider asks, oil slick eyes gazing through him. "The curtain's fallen on so many lives in this poor, dying city but yours goes on. And you're dedicating it to... what, exactly?" The Outsider smiles coldly, an imperfect, insincere facsimile. "Such a shame about the girl, after you took care of Delilah for her and everything. Do you think helping a fellow murderer will redeem you? Or are you just trying to abandon a sinking ship?"

Daud tries to turn away, but his feet are rooted to the ground as always seems to happen during these encounters. The Outsider has never been interested in what Daud has to say, though the god can obviously read Daud's thoughts.

The smile widens, all bone and shadow. Daud would shrink back, were he capable of doing so.

"Either way," the Outsider says, leaning forward, "what follows won't be _boring_."

Daud wakes up. He glares at the crumbling ceiling, allows himself several moments to wallow in annoyance and self-pity before he starts his day. Everything should be in place, but they depart tomorrow and there can be no harm in checking over their plans one more time.

* * *

 

Daud startles awake the night before their planned escape to find Corvo standing at the foot of the bed. His back is to the only source of light - what dim illumination the stars give off - so his face is hidden. Daud resists the urge to activate his void gaze and eases his hand away from the knife tucked under his pillow.

"You left Martin alive," Corvo says, backing up several paces to lean against the railing with his arms crossed. The mask hangs on his belt, opposite his blade.

"So did you," Daud says, reaching over to turn the lamp on.

"Hn." Corvo's expression is unhappy, though he does look cleaner than he had the last time Daud saw him. The smell of blood lingers, though; since Daud can't remember it being there when he managed to fall asleep, he can only assume Corvo is the source.

Daud runs a hand through his hair, debating what to say next. He settles on, "I hope you didn't knock my men out this time."

"They made themselves scarce." Corvo sounds faintly bewildered by this fact.

Silence descends again.

"I heard your preparations are complete," Corvo says at length, his expression carefully neutral now.

Daud nods. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"What are your plans for Martin?"

"I was hoping the issue would resolve itself," Daud admits. Several of his men had asked the same question, and he doesn't have a better answer now. "If you want to bring him along-"

"To Serkonos?" Corvo's tone is sharp.

"Yes," Daud says slowly, trying not to let his annoyance show. He doubts he was asleep for more than a few hours before Corvo woke him and he hasn't had many opportunities to sleep in the past week; his temper isn't the best.

Corvo frowns and looks away, glaring broodingly at the wall. Daud studies his profile: the light makes the bag under his eye look more pronounced, and there's no concealing that the wound beneath that is anything but a purposefully inflicted brand.

"The ship's supposed to come in at ten," Daud says.

"I know."

He grits his teeth and asks, "What do you want done with Martin? If he doesn't come with us-"

"I killed him," Corvo says.

"Great," Daud says. Adds, "You couldn't have opened the conversation with that?" when Corvo shoots him an unimpressed look.

Corvo shrugs. "I went to talk to him and lost my temper."

Daud almost asks if he's feeling better now but his sense of self-preservation has been making a recovery over the past few days. "He wanted to die."

Corvo sneers. "I shouldn't have given him what he _wanted_."

"Look," Daud says, "we're going to be at the Ramsey Slaughterhouse at nine tomorrow morning. The ship could be late, but these deliveries are usually punctual. If you miss the ship, you'll have to find your own way out of this damn city."

* * *

Corvo's waiting for them when they arrive at the slaughterhouse, a standard issue Whaler blade sheathed at his side. His mask is nowhere in evidence, but he's still wearing that stupid blue Lord Protector coat.

It's a mystery to Daud that no one connected the dots and realized the masked felon and Corvo Attano were one and the same, but he supposes they had the plague and the interregnum to worry about.

"Here," Thomas says, pulling a spare Whaler mask out of his pack and holding it out. Corvo looks at it for several moments but makes no move to take it.

Daud frowns and waves for the Whalers to go on. Rulfio leads them away, leaving Thomas and Daud alone with Corvo.

"At least wear it until we're past the blockade," Daud says. "And your coat-"

Corvo looks at Daud's own coat, distinctive and red. "I'll wear the mask," he says, and quickly puts it on. His hood goes up over it; at a glance, he could almost be mistaken for a master assassin.

The thought is a strange one and Daud quickly dismisses it from his mind.

Thomas clears his throat. "We should get going, sir."

They go.

* * *

"You can hear what she says," Corvo says a week into the voyage.

They're perched precariously at the top of the scaffolding meant to secure whatever unfortunate whale the ship manages to catch. It is empty now, of course. They transverse up after dark, when most of the other occupants of the ship are asleep; the lights from the deck below do not extend this high.

Daud had done so on the first day, only to find Corvo already there, his legs dangling over the edge of the massive metal frame. He'd offered to leave, but Corvo had only shrugged. Daud had lingered awkwardly, gazing up at the stars for lack of anything better to do; but the silence had not been uncomfortable.

He'd stayed away for the next few days; when he'd convinced himself to go up again, Corvo had been nowhere in evidence. He'd shown up within the hour, nodding briefly to Daud before taking up the position he'd occupied the first night.

They hadn't spoken since then either. Daud almost wishes the silence had continued.

"... Yes," he says, glancing over. Corvo is turning the heart over in his hands. He refuses to wear gloves, but at least he avoids the sailors for the most part.

"Your Whalers can't," Corvo says. "I asked. And they have an aversion to the heart."

Daud makes a noncommittal sound. Neither fact is particularly surprising. Their powers are, after all, mere reflections of his own; and anyone in their right mind would find the heart creepy. At least Daud has the knowledge that the heart tells Corvo secrets; to anyone else, it just looks like Corvo's carrying around the macabre thing for no reason.

"The last leviathan this ship brought to slaughter was just a child," the heart says. "He got separated from his family and searched for days. All he found was this trawler. He wailed for his mother the whole voyage."

Daud's considering retreating below deck before the heart can turn its (her? He shies away from the thought) attention to him when Corvo says, "I want you to point the heart at me."

Daud stares at him, thrown. Corvo's holding his left hand out; the heart's beating increases, _thump thump thumpthumpthump_ like the sudden pounding in Daud's ears.

"I don't think-"

"She doesn't say anything when I do it myself," Corvo says, as if this is a perfectly reasonable request.

"I-" _killed her_ , Daud doesn't finish. He internalizes a sigh and reaches out.

"Thank you," Corvo says, and presses the heart into his hand.

"Shit," Daud says, fumbling as a section of wire somehow slices straight through his glove and into the meat of his right thumb. Pain blossoms belatedly, the cut too clean to hurt immediately. He lurches forward, reaches out his unharmed, marked hand as the heart begins to fall. The cut on his palm throbs in protest as he steadies himself with that hand.

"Fuck!" His fingers close around the damned thing but it manages to shred his palm and fingers even though he <i>knows</i> there isn't that much sharp metal in it. "Take it!" he snarls at Corvo, who snatches the heart back swiftly and clutches it to his chest.

"There will always be blood on his hands," the heart says helpfully, slowing to its usual steady beat in Corvo's grasp.

Daud bites back his retort ( _whose fault is that_ ) and grits his teeth until they grind together painfully.

"The heart has never cut me before," Corvo says.

"I'm guessing you didn't _kill her_ either," Daud says scathingly, unable to stop himself this time.

Corvo's expression closes and he transverses down, disappears below deck before Daud can think to- apologize, try to gloss over what he said, do anything.

"Fuck," he mutters, and goes to find some bandages and a new set of gloves.

* * *

He ends up needing stitches for the first cut.

Hobson, the closest thing the Whalers have to a physician, is a man of few words. He merely raises an eyebrow when Daud wakes him and digs out his kit with a minimum of protest.

After he carefully ties off the suture but before he goes to work on Daud's shredded palm, he starts to ask, "How-"

"-I don't want to talk about it," Daud snaps.

Hobson sighs, somehow managing to convey his annoyance not only at being woken to tend to inexplicable wounds, but also having to put up with Daud's own shitty mood and perhaps even his regret over his decision to join the Whalers in the first place.

"Good luck doing anything while this heals," Hobson says a while later, carefully turning Daud's left hand over to make sure the bandages are properly secured. He doesn't touch the exposed edges of the mark at all. "If you hurt yourself before I wake up tomorrow, you'll have to fend for yourself or I can't be held accountable for what I might do."

Daud probably deserves that. He still fumes as he retreats to his tiny cabin, and sleep is a long time in coming.

* * *

A few days later, Daud finds Corvo in a darkened corner of the ship, brooding behind some crates with the heart in his hands. He'd judge Corvo for it, had he not been seeking a similar location for the exact same purpose.

Absurdly, he feels compelled to apologize for intruding, but he does no such thing. He turns to go, but Corvo's words stop him.

"Who's Delilah?"

Daud scowls, then schools his face into a neutral expression before turning back to Corvo. "Delilah?"

"He knows who she is," the heart says.

Daud ignores it. His hands twinge in remembrance; he's still having a hard time doing _anything_ with his hands, thanks to the Void-damned thing. At least he can manage cutlery with something resembling competence now; he's been going hungry rather than asking for help.

Corvo looks at him expectantly.

Daud leans against the hull of the ship, crosses his arms before he realizes what it reveals- but by then it's too late. Uncrossing them would just draw attention to it. "How do you know that name?"

"He mentioned it."

"The black-eyed bastard," Daud says, just to be sure. If one of the Whalers let it slip- Well, it had better not have been one of them.

Corvo nods.

"Delilah Copperspoon was... one of us. Marked," he clarifies, in case Corvo think Daud is referring to the Whalers. "I had never even heard of her until a few weeks ago, when the Outsider gave me her name."

Corvo remains silent as Daud tells him everything:  interrogating Rothwild, ruining Timsh, Billie's betrayal, freeing and restoring Lizzy, infiltrating Brigmore Manor... Corvo's eyes narrow when Daud relates Delilah's plan, but he doesn't interrupt.

When he's done, Corvo says, "You let them live."

Daud shrugs, steps over to sit on a crate. "I'm done with killing."

"You killed Ramsey's brother," Corvo says.

"No convenient alternative presented itself," Daud admits wryly. "I don't intend to kill anyone else either, but who knows what the future holds."

"You just... stopped. After Jessamine."

"She was different," Daud says.

Corvo nods, looks down at the heart. "She was," he agrees.

Daud has no wish to discuss the late Empress, so he doesn't say anything else. A few moments later, Corvo stands abruptly, the heart disappearing into his coat. He stalks past Daud on silent feet and disappears into the bowels of the ship.

* * *

The Whalers cleared a portion of the cargo hold and lined it with straw to serve as a crude training area a few days into the voyage. Daud watches them spar sometimes, though he leaves actual instruction to the senior Whalers.

He doesn't realize that he's made it a habit until he shows up around noon to find the area deserted, apart from Corvo. He hasn't seen a single sign of Corvo since he told the man about Delilah.

"Spar with me," Corvo says.

Daud doesn't hesitate to step onto the straw, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. "Powers, or-"

"No powers."

Corvo draws his blade, shifting into a fighting stance. He attacks without warning the second Daud draws his own sword.

Corvo's  _fast_. Daud blocks his initial strike, but Corvo moves smoothly into his next attack, keeping Daud on the defensive.

He's not holding back, exactly, but Corvo keeps coming at him with lethal intent. The gash on his hand is already protesting; he can't tell if the wetness on his palm is from sweat or blood, but either way he's going to lose his grip soon. The pain sharpens with every blocked strike, the force of Corvo's attacks jarring up his arm.

But the thought of yielding does not appeal. Daud grunts as they lock blades and stands his ground. He has the advantage of not having spent six months in the worst of Dunwall's prisons, and he forces Corvo back into a stagger. He follows up with a vicious kick to the stomach and Corvo folds over with a gasp, left arm curling protectively around the injury.

He blocks Daud's overhead strike, but it drives him to his knees. Daud presses his blade against Corvo's throat.

There's a faint suggestion of a smile lurking around Corvo's mouth when he looks up at Daud, eyebrows quirked as if to say, _well_?

In the absence of ringing steel, their mingled panting seems excessively loud.

Daud sheathes his blade and steps back.

"Again," Corvo says, rising smoothly.

Daud shakes his head, catches the tips of his glove's first two fingers between his teeth. The leather peels away from his skin reluctantly; sure enough, the gash has reopened. He doesn't find that he regrets it, though.

"... I forgot," Corvo says, frowning at the injury.

"I could have refused," Daud says, stuffing the glove in a pocket.

"Do you have a medic?" Corvo asks, falling into step beside him as he leaves the makeshift sparring area. "The ship's doctor is a charlatan."

Daud raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask how Corvo knows that. "Yes; I didn't stitch this up myself after, well."

Corvo scowls and mutters, "And you still beat me."

Daud snorts. "It could've gone either way."

They find Hobson playing Nancy with Rinaldo and two of the younger Whalers.

"Can this wait, I'm just about to thrash-" Hobson stops when he looks up and sees Daud's hand. "Again?"

"I can stitch it up," Corvo says.

Rinaldo looks between them speculatively. Daud glares pointedly until he looks back down; but it is a deliberate motion. Clearly, Rinaldo is only humouring him. The others remain steadfastly focussed on their cards, at least.

"Right," Hobson says, losing interest, and tells them where to find the med kit.

"You cheated!" Kent cries behind them as they're leaving.

"Your strategy is terrible," Rinaldo says, long-suffering. Daud kicks the door closed, cutting the burgeoning argument off.

Corvo retrieves the med kit and they retreat to Daud's tiny cabin. Daud watches with some impatience as Corvo sterilizes then threads the needle, but he tries to hide it.

"Done this before, have you?" Daud asks a few minutes later.

"Mm." Corvo's expression is hidden by the fall of his hair, bent as he is over Daud's hand. "Emily cut herself badly once and absolutely refused to let Sokolov near to stitch it. I ended up doing it, with his direction." His voice is distracted, as if he's not paying attention to what he's saying.

Daud almost apologizes, but stops himself before he can utter the words. Instead, he says, "I wouldn't want Sokolov anywhere near me either."

"You let him paint your portrait." Corvo sounds amused, damn him.

"Tch. Where did you find that?" He'd been looking for the stupid thing on and off for years; even if no one knew who he was, having such an accurate picture floating around was hardly practical.

"Bunting's apartment. He was an art dealer," Corvo adds, which explains why the name sounded vaguely familiar.

"Makes sense," Daud mutters.

"I stole it and sold it on the black market for a pittance," Corvo adds.

Had he not been wielding a sharp object near Daud's dominant hand, that might have earned him a kick. As it is, Daud settles for glaring at the top of his head.

"... There," Corvo says a few minutes later, his voice subdued now. He carefully ties the thread off; the stitches aren't as neat as Hobson's, but they're serviceable and better than anything Daud could've managed himself.

"Thank you," Daud says, but Corvo makes no attempt to move away. Not that there's anywhere to go; there's about two paces of floor space.

"You protected her and I failed her," Corvo says. He still hasn't looked up.

Daud winces, tries to pass it off as a shrug. "Neither of you should have been in that situation," he says.

"I broke into Burrows' safe and found an audiograph card, after I killed him," Corvo says. "He confessed to everything. He imported the rats that brought the plague, then had Jessamine killed to keep the secret from coming to light."

"... I didn't know," Daud says. It's almost worse, knowing.

"Don't," Corvo says. "Just- don't."

Daud thinks about putting his hand on Corvo's shoulder, actually reaches out to do so then- stops. Because that... would be crossing some unacknowledged line, surely. He lets his hand drop to his side; he doesn't know what to say.

Corvo laughs bitterly. "I found the letter in your trunk. He wrote that I would've been very useful to him."

Daud's hands twitch at his side; with an effort, he stills them. "He sent me many letters. I burned them," Daud says. "I suppose I missed that one."

"It was a little late for that, wasn't it?" There's a cruel lilt to Corvo's voice; in that moment, Daud has no trouble reconciling him with the man who slaughtered most of the City Guard and a good majority of Dunwall's major figures.

Then the words themselves register and Daud's mind goes blank.

"I don't know what you want from me," he snaps too many silent seconds later, standing abruptly. Corvo overbalances, catches himself against the opposite wall. Daud stalks out, slamming the door.

A passing Whaler looks askance at him, gaze darting from the door to Daud, but whatever he sees in Daud's face must dissuade him from asking why his leader is storming away from his own cabin. The poor Whaler wheels around and hurries off in the opposite direction.

* * *

The trawler comes across a pod of whales a few days later. Some of Daud's men, and Daud himself, watch from positions outside of the action as the sailors hurry about, the captain shouting orders. The crew is obviously well-trained; the harpoons are out and the engines roar below as the pilot leads them into the thick of the pod.

"I can't watch," Aedan mutters and disappears below deck, his mouth drawn in a flat, unhappy line.

Daud leans against the railing with his arms crossed, tracking the motions of various men with his eyes. A few of his Whalers actually were whalers before he recruited them; interestingly, he doesn't see any of them in evidence.

"Rats!"

The cry sounds incredulous at first, but as more of the sailors take it up, it becomes panicked. Daud frowns as the orderly efficiency of the men collapses into chaos as they clamber onto bulkheads and cling to the thick support cables, harpoons forgotten.

"Shit," Hobson says, scrambling onto a crate as a wave of rats flows up to the upper deck where most of them are observing from. Daud hooks an arm around a cable and balances himself on the rail.

"Did you-?" Rulfio asks, perched precariously beside him.

"No," Daud says shortly. He only uses his summon powers for the Whalers now; he'd had his fill of rats long before coming to Gristol, though some of the older Whalers can remember him summoning them when he first formed the group. "They're attacking everyone," he adds, kicking a particularly nimble rat away. Could the damn things jump so high when he summoned them? He smashes another one beneath his boot, ignoring the sickeningly wet squelch.

"So it was the Lord Protector," Rulfio says, swiping with his sword at any rats within range.

"Don't call him that," Daud says, glancing around. Only his men are in earshot, and everyone is distracted by the rats anyway.

Rulfio looks at him for several long moments, his expression carefully blank. "I trust you know what you're doing," is all he says, and resumes putting down the truly ridiculous amount of rodents swarming everywhere.

By the time the horde has been crushed underfoot or thrown overboard, the pod of whales is long gone. There are, fortunately, no deaths.

* * *

"Don't do that again," Daud tells Corvo that night, both of them lurking atop the still-empty frame meant to hold a whale. The crew had watched their passengers with suspicion for the rest of the day, and Daud had heard Thomas surreptitiously advising the assassins to travel in pairs.

Corvo's lip curls back into an angry sneer as if to say _you can't order me around_. "The ship should reach Cullero soon," is what he actually says.

Daud makes a noncommittal noise in response. They would've arrived already, had their destination been Bastillian. Cullero is a nicer location, though, if popular opinion is to be trusted. The city exports damn good cigars, though Daud has had little opportunity to indulge with the blockade in effect.

Corvo pulls the heart out a few minutes later, at which point Daud decides to turn in for the night.

* * *

They reach Cullero two days later, without encountering another pod of whales or inciting more than angry muttering from the crew.

"Land, sweet land," Kent moans dramatically in the background.

Mingled laughter drifts after his words as Daud exchanges the last pleasantries with the captain. The man doesn't bother hiding his relief that his troublesome cargo is leaving. Daud presses a purse fat with coins into his hands, "for the trouble".

The captain eyes him carefully, then nods and tucks the money away into his coat.

Daud joins the Whalers milling about on the deck, waiting to be taken to the dock on a boat. A group including Corvo has already disembarked; as Daud watches, the boat leaves the dock and makes for the trawler.

He finds himself wondering where Billie is, what her destination is and whether she's made it there or not. She'd left him that book about the Empire's ports, after all; is she here now, or has she headed to a different isle? Daud hadn't made much of a secret of his birthplace; perhaps she had only meant to remind him of home. Perhaps she's decided to leave the Empire entirely, set her sights on Pandyssia or somewhere even further.

It still hurts to think about Billie. He should have seen the signs of her defection long before things came to a head; he wonders, sometimes, how much of her betrayal was influenced by Delilah and how much of it came from Billie herself. It does her a discredit to think that her actions were not her own; Daud thinks that Delilah was just a means to an end for Billie, if the brief interaction that he'd witnessed between them was any indication.

 Daud stands at the trawler's rail, enjoying the sun and listening with half an ear to the excited chatter of the Whalers. He isn't as impatient about the tediously slow disembarking as he would have expected. The weather has become steadily warmer the further south they traveled, and it's a beautiful day. The morning is already warm; without a cloud in sight, he imagines it will be a disgustingly hot day, the likes of which Dunwall seldom, if ever, experienced.

Daud finds he's looking forward to it.

When he enters Cullero with the last group of Whalers sometime around noon, he finds the rest of his men milling around in an alley not far from the harbour. Some of them are eating food purchased at nearby stalls, but it looks like most of them are present. Daud scans the assembled group once, twice, then asks, "Where's Corvo?"

Several of the Whalers look around, but for the most part they seem apathetic to Corvo's absence.

Thomas clears his throat. "He went off by himself when our boat landed, sir," he says.

Daud starts to frown, catches himself, and shrugs. "We'll need to find accommodations. Rinaldo, pick some men and watch our things. The rest of you, split up and find an inn. We'll meet back here in an hour."

Thomas falls into step beside him as Daud walks away from the group. "Have you been to Cullero before, sir?"

Daud shakes his head, scanning the streets for likely lodgings. Another group of assassins has chosen the same route, but they're on the other side of the street. There are several pubs boasting rooms above the premises, but Daud doubts they'll have the capacity to lodge all the Whalers.

Thomas falls silent, dutifully following the path that Daud randomly picks out in an attempt to find suitable shelter for the night.

Corvo appears in the mouth of an alley just as Daud and Thomas walk past; Daud has his sword halfway out of its sheath before he realizes who it is.

"Did I startle you?" Corvo asks. His face is set in a neutral expression, but Daud doesn't think he's imagining the mocking note in his voice.

"I thought you'd left," Daud says, then seriously contemplates drawing his blade fully and disemboweling himself or something equally excruciating, to match the emotional pain such an admission is causing him.

Corvo stares at him.

Thomas clears his throat. "Did you find anything?"

Corvo switches his gaze to Thomas as he hums an affirmative. "There's a decent inn not far from here, just as I remembered."

"You're from Cullero?" Everyone knew the Lord Protector was from Serkonos, but Daud hadn't known the exact location.

Thomas looks at him then, but he schools his face into blankness before Daud can decipher his expression.

"We visited in the winter," Corvo says. "I'm from Karnaca." He shrugs and steps past them, into the street. "The inn's this way."

* * *

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the inn that Corvo directs them to is the best prospect that any of them find.

It's on the edge of a more respectable part of the city and the docks, nestled between a government office and a busy cafe. The proprietor seems friendly enough, until Daud tries to get a discount for their group. She's utterly implacable; Daud is unused to resistance like this, and he can't exactly intimidate her into submission either.

He has to step out for a walk after the frustrating task of haggling for a discount. Most of the Whalers - and Corvo - had made themselves scarce within a few minutes when it became evident that the woman would not be easily swayed. As it was, there weren't enough rooms for their entire group and some of the Whalers would be staying at a nearby establishment. He'd left Thomas and Rulfio to deal with that.

Corvo is standing in front of a board outside the government office, his posture relaxed for the most part. Daud makes sure to scuff his feet as he approaches and comes to stand beside the other man. There are no wanted posters for either of them, thankfully; not that Corvo's picture resembled the gaunt man standing beside him now.

"My grandfather owned a vineyard," Corvo says absently as they study the notice board. "We visited in the summer." There is a strange expression on his face, almost wistful.

Daud follows his gaze to a small advertisement, faded and nearly lost among newer, flashier announcements.

"What-" Corvo looks at him, startled, when Daud tears the sheet down.

"It sounds like a decent location, within a day of the city if this is to be believed," Daud says, folding the flyer carefully and tucking it into a pocket. "Probably isolated. It can't hurt to check it out. The seller's address is in town as well."

"I don't actually know how to grow grapes," Corvo says, keeping pace with Daud as he makes his way back toward the inn.

"We don't need the money," Daud says.

"'We'," Corvo says, always catching on his own inclusion, as if he expects Daud to kick him out of their motley group.

Daud shrugs. "Well, we don't."

"Your men hardly strike me as skilled labourers in any other professions," Corvo says a few seconds later.

Daud shrugs again. "You might be surprised." He opens the door to the inn, holds it for Corvo to enter first.

Corvo narrows his eyes but walks in without protest. Daud stands in the sun for a moment longer, enjoying the steady heat that Gristol - and Dunwall in particular - had always seemed to lack, before following Corvo inside.

* * *

Daud leaves the meeting with the vineyard's former owner with the distinct feeling that he has just been swindled, but he has the deed to the vineyard tucked into his coat and he still has more coin left than he knows what to do with, so he puts the feeling out of his mind.

"What are we even going to do with a vineyard?" one of the Whalers asks when he breaks the news to them in the yard behind the inn. They're at the back of the crowd, so Daud can't be certain of their identity, which is lucky for them.

"If you don't like it, Galia, you can leave anytime," Rulfio says.

A space clears around the young man, and he looks like a deer caught in a hunter's sight. "I don't have a problem with it," Galia says quickly, his gaze darting from Rulfio to Daud. "Sir."

That's the end of it, as far as Daud's concerned.

Well, the end of the trouble with his subordinates, at any rate. There's transportation to arrange, for one thing - they hadn't brought much with them, but there are a good number of crates all the same - and furnishing for the dwellings when they actually do arrive.

The vineyard itself takes up a relatively small portion of the property. Daud hadn't been expecting that, though some research will later confirm that vineyard plots tend to be small. The rows of grapevines are overgrown, sagging off the wooden frames meant to support them and choked with weeds. A plot of dirt suitable for a small vegetable garden has been cleared nearby, though this too is now full of weeds. There are several fenced enclosures scattered around as well, though given the state of disrepair they won't be keeping any sort of livestock in the near future.

Not that livestock had been part of the admittedly short-sighted plan. Daud supposes it will keep some of the Whalers busy, anyway. Someone had found (or, he suspected, stolen from Holger Square) a litter of wolfhounds and raised them to guard the Chamber of Commerce; stray cats kept finding their way into their old bases; he'd even seen trained rats doing tricks a few times, though those had soon disappeared with the advent of the plague.

There are various copses of trees towards the edges of the property, and carefully planted rows of hedges lining the road offer privacy from passersby. Daud doesn't anticipate there being many - the vineyard is several miles off the main thoroughfare, a highway leading south from Cullero to the interior of Serkonos. It's the only thing of note along the dusty lane. When they arrive, the hedges have been so long untended that their growth almost obscures the track leading into the property.

A large barn (rundown, like everything else) squats at the end of the track, its weathered boards speckled with the remnants of an old paint job. The doors and windows seem sturdy enough, when Daud gives them a cursory glance; what concerns him are the two dwellings: a bunkhouse for hired hands (Daud had thought it would be suitable for most of the Whalers when the seller mentioned it) and the sturdy, two-storey farmhouse.

The bunkhouse has been maintained as diligently as the barn, which is to say not very well if at all, but the farmhouse had been inhabited until a few months ago, when the old woman living within had died. The seller had been her son, a lawyer of some sort based in Cullero.

"There's no plumbing," someone mutters right as a lull in conversation occurs among the rest of the Whalers. Their voice is perfectly audible in the muggy afternoon air.

"'s not like the plumbing in the Flooded District was all that reliable," another says.

"There's outhouses," a third adds.

"And a roof," the first agrees, sounding heartened.

"Thomas," Daud says, gesturing for his second to follow as he walks a short distance from the majority of the Whalers. Others are roaming the grounds, exploring; a few have braved the rundown structures. Daud doesn't imagine that they're remotely as dangerous as the ruins in the Flooded District, but he hopes they'll be more salvageable. "We recruited a carpenter, didn't we?"

Thomas tilts his head, thoughtful. "I believe so... Chester's family was fairly well-known in Dunwall, if I recall correctly."

"Have him and any others check over the bunkhouse, recommend what work needs to be done, tools, materials, that sort of thing."

Thomas nods and starts calling names as he walks towards the bunkhouse.

There's a bit of squabbling when Daud announces that only the highest-ranking Whalers will be given one of the rooms in the farmhouse; one unfortunate complains about Corvo getting one of the rooms, but those standing at his side quickly shut him up.

Daud, thoroughly tired from the journey and glad for the solitude after weeks of enforced close quarters, retreats into the house after that. Most of the furniture within has been cleared out, and everything is covered in a layer of dust. There's a pair of musty armchairs set before the front window of the main room,  a table with only three chairs in the small dining area, an old stove in the kitchen and not much else.

He sits in one of the armchairs, grimacing a bit at the cloud of dust this dislodges, and mulls over everything that's happened so far. He can hear his Whalers' voices, muffled and distorted by the glass, and if he looks out he can see several of them at any given moment.

"Anything of interest?" Daud asks Rulfio when the man returns from his examination of the property.

Rulfio glances at Daud, though he doesn't look surprised to find him there. "There's an old shed toward the back of the property," he reports, walking into the large room. It's meant for entertaining, could probably serve as a dining room or a living room. With only the fireplace, the layer of dust blanketing every surface and the two armchairs, it just looks rather sad. "That's about it."

Daud nods. "Thomas, Hobson and Rinaldo have already chosen their rooms, but you can have your pick of what's left."

"Corvo will take the last?" Rulfio asks; his voice is perfectly civil, but there's an undertone that sets Daud on edge for reasons that he can't immediately discern.

"If he wants," Daud says.

Rulfio looks at him. "Understood," he says a few moments later, and goes upstairs.

Daud glances out the window; in the fading evening light, he can see various Whalers wandering around or trying to find suitable spots to bed down for the night. Apparently the floor of the bunkhouse is rotten; he supposes he could give them permission to sleep in this large, empty room, but-

They've slept in similar - _worse_ , if he's completely honest - conditions in the Flooded District, after all. At least it isn't as rainy here as it is in Dunwall.

Upstairs, there are five bedrooms: three of relatively equal size on one side of the hall, the master bedroom and a slightly larger room on the other. Hobson had claimed the single bedroom on the ground floor. Since it's also the smallest, no one had protested. Daud's a little surprised to find that his subordinates have chosen the three smaller bedrooms, but he doesn't give it much thought beyond that.

There's an old mattress propped beside the window in his bedroom; after a cursory inspection, Daud decides it'll do. He bunches his coat up as a makeshift pillow and goes to sleep.

* * *

 

Things are quiet; comfortable. It takes a few weeks to arrange for everything - materials to repair the bunkhouse, furniture, food - but while it is hectic at times, Daud finds he doesn't mind.

He'd had fewer demands on his time in the past six months (barring the entire affair with Delilah) than in previous years, not for lack of demand for his services but because he had taken to refusing every new job offer that came up. In retrospect, allowing himself that much free time to brood on his mistakes and regrets had been, well, another mistake. Not that he should have thrown himself into further jobs, but Daud acknowledges that he could have found something else to occupy the empty hours.

For example, supervising the training of the newer Whalers, or even instructing them personally. Daud hadn't taken such an active role in his group in years, apart from Billie's training. She was more talented than most, if not all, of the outcasts and misfits that he'd recruited, but perhaps some of the others could have benefitted from his tutelage as well. He's not arrogant enough to think that he's a skilled teacher - he was an impatient instructor, he knows that, which had been part of the reason he'd started delegating the task to others more suited to it - but none are more proficient at using the Outsider's powers than Daud himself, after all.

He's busier now, though the work is much more relaxing than anything he'd done in Dunwall. He's useless at carpentry, but he can at least manage to hold a board for another to fasten, or help with setting fence posts. It isn't urgent work; there's no deadline, apart from the usual complaining about lack of space from the rank and file of the Whalers. Daud can tune that out with practiced ease; part of him is even a little pleased that his men are comfortable enough to air such complaints around him.

The Whalers are still in the habit of running every major expense by him, though they're all fairly well off. Aside from Daud purchasing the property itself out of his own pocket, most of the supplies (timber, food, furniture and now livestock, among other things) have been bought by the Whalers. Unless it's a particularly ridiculous proposal - someone had wanted to build a pool, of all things - Daud tends to look it over and give his approval without much thought.

This, though.

"Sheep," Daud says dubiously, gazing down at the report Rulfio has just handed him. It isn't in Rulfio's neat hand, so obviously the writer - Dimitri or Aedan, who've both signed at the bottom - was too intimidated to ask Daud themselves. But they weren't intimidated enough to dismiss the idea entirely; on one hand, Daud wants to put that time behind him, but on the other: sheep. He imagines them bleating at all hours, shitting everywhere. It isn't a pleasant thought.

"There's a suitable area for a pasture near the back of the property," Rulfio says. "It would only be a few, in any case. Aedan and Dimitri will care for them, and pay for any supplemental feed or other expenses out of their own pockets, of course. And the wool can be used to make clothes."

Daud frowns.

"We can make you a scarf, sir," Dimitri says, peering through the doorway into the common room. It functions as a gathering place, though it can't hold all of the Whalers at one time, and a sort of office; there's no other rooms in the house for the latter. Daud has a desk in his room, but he doesn't want it to function as a meeting place as his old room in the Flooded District had.

"A scarf."

"Outsider's eyes, Dimitri, why would he want a scarf!" Aedan hisses from further down the hall; they must have been lurking around to hear the verdict. "Does Serkonos even have winter?"

"It gets cold," Dimitri insists.

"A scarf, though," Aedan says, pained. Daud can relate.

"It could hide your face to a certain extent," Rulfio says mildly. He's amused, though his expression is deadpan. "The scar would still be visible, of course, but you can hide that with powder. A scarf is less obvious than a hood."

"Or a mask," Dimitri says, then wilts visibly under Daud's look. "Um, what Rulfio said."

Daud resists the urge to rub his temples. "Fine," he says.

Dimitri whoops, grinning widely. "Right, so what colour?"

Daud just looks at him blankly; sheep come in black or white, don't they? Either way, Daud doesn't particularly care. It's not like he'll have anything to do with the animals.

"For the scarf," Dimitri prompts.

"I don't care," Daud says.

"Nothing ostentatious," Rulfio says, carefully deadpan.

Dimitri nods gravely; Daud tries not to listen as he and Aedan discuss suitable colours before the front door swings shut behind them.

"That's the last request?" Daud asks.

"For now," Rulfio agrees. "Though the others will likely take this as encouragement." He smirks at Daud's groan and disappears down the hall.

* * *

Daud isn't entirely certain what Corvo does with his time. He keeps odd hours, comes and goes as he pleases. Daud assumes he sleeps, though he usually wakes not long after whoever gets up first. More often than not, he's already awake and eating porridge when Daud rises. He makes excellent coffee, though, so Daud can't complain.

Most of the Whalers avoid him. Hobson treats him the same as everyone else, and Rulfio is carefully polite; Thomas seems to enjoy his company. Rinaldo is civil enough, though he's quick to find excuses to leave when he and Corvo are in the same room. The rest of the Whalers keep their distance, but since Corvo sticks mainly to the house or disappears to the far edges of the property (as far as Daud knows) this isn't a difficult feat.

Although there are no contracts on the horizon or missions to plan or clients to meet, Daud lets it be known that he expects everyone to keep up their skills. For his part, he spars with Corvo most mornings. Some of the other Whalers are quite skilled with a blade, but none of them can hold a candle to Corvo, with or without the Outsider's powers. As time passes, more and more of the Whalers show up at the edges of the sparring ring, watching them fight with interest.

Daud's seen some of the younger ones trying to emulate some of Corvo's moves; their fighting style largely takes after Daud's. A few approach Daud about mastering Corvo's techniques; they shift uncomfortably and mutter excuses when he suggests asking the man himself.

"You could teach some of them your skills," Daud says over coffee one morning.

Corvo glances at him. There are dark bags under his eyes, as usual; he was already sitting at the table when Daud came downstairs, as usual. He must sleep, though.

"Why?" Corvo doesn't sound upset, exactly, but there's a wariness about him that Daud doesn't want to goad.

He shrugs. "Just an idea."

Corvo makes a disinterested sound and applies himself to the rest of his porridge. Daud marks the topic as closed and doesn't bring it up again.

* * *

Corvo leaves a few days later.

Daud doesn't think much of it, the first day; doesn't even notice, really, beyond grimacing at his own subpar coffee in the morning. He spars with Thomas instead.

He spends the day supervising the bunkhouse expansion efforts; it's not unlike Corvo to disappear for the whole day. He's always returned dust- or mud-splattered well into the evening, his face gradually darkening into a deep tan. Sometimes, Daud will see him wandering off somewhere in the middle of the day, or not at all. So he doesn't pay much mind to Corvo's absence.

"Have you seen Corvo?" Daud makes the mistake of asking Rulfio on the second day.

Rulfio looks at him for several long seconds. Daud stares back as stonily as possible. "He seemed restless the past few days," is all Rulfio says. "I saw him leaving the property yesterday morning."

Daud tries not to scowl.

The third day, Thomas unobtrusively takes over the bunkhouse supervision and sends Daud off with a retrospectively half-assed excuse about some of the men having found an old well near the back of the property.

There is no well that Daud can find, and no one else is in the vicinity either.

Daud fumes about it, stalking angrily through the trees rather than actively acknowledge that he's in any way unfit to deal with his subordinates right now. He's pissed off that he's worried about Corvo's absence at all, and pissed off that it's obvious enough for his lieutenants to notice, and pissed off with himself for being pissed off in the first place.

He turns in early that night, but he ends up lying awake anyway, listening to the others going about their business. The house creaks, but it's different than the saturated, ponderous groans of the Flooded District. Daud had become accustomed to those sounds, but these are still unfamiliar.

Sometime between counting the cracks in the ceiling and mentally reciting the muscles in the human body (he remembers them more or less accurately from his time in the Academy of Natural Philosophy) Daud manages to fall asleep.

* * *

Daud wakes up to hear Corvo pacing restlessly in his room: the walls are thin, and the floor creaks every so often despite Corvo's soft footfalls. This in itself is not unusual. Corvo keeps strange hours, and it's not like Daud can't understand insomnia, though he's found his own method of dealing with it. What's different this time, however, is the fact that he can hear the heart whispering.

He hasn't seen the thing since they landed on Serkonos. He hadn't thought it was gone or anything like that, but Corvo hadn't been taking it out at random times and its existence had slipped from Daud's mind.

He can't make out the individual words, a fact for which he is quite grateful. The sound of Jess- _the heart's_ voice is too distracting for him to ignore, and he finds himself lying awake, vaguely annoyed. Daud gets through the muscles in the human arm, is halfway through the muscles of the leg before he gives it up as a bad job and climbs out of bed. He pulls on yesterday's trousers and shirt, not trying to be particularly quiet about it, and goes downstairs.

He avoids the third step from the top (it creaks loud enough to wake the dead) so he doesn't disturb the Whalers and walks to the kitchen. Hobson's door is firmly closed - it's three in the morning, after all - and Daud tries to be quiet as he turns on a lamp and fetches himself a glass of water. He brings the lamp with him when he sits down at the small kitchen table.

They've acquired a fourth chair to round out the set. Since Rinaldo is still apparently incapable of spending more than five minutes in Corvo's presence and tends to sleep in anyway, and the others keep fairly irregular hours, they haven't had any trouble with overcrowding. The rest of the Whalers eat in the bunkhouse.

Daud doesn't startle when he sees the flash of dingy blue fabric in the doorway. Corvo's standing there, his eyes fixed on the table. He looks- uncertain, almost. There's a tension to his body that has been missing in the past weeks. He hadn't noticed its absence until he sees Corvo now, looking like he's on the verge of drawing his sword or turning tail and running. Though with Corvo, the former is far more likely than the latter.

Daud drains the rest of his glass and gestures for Corvo to join him.

After a moment's hesitation, Corvo does. The heart is nowhere in evidence, probably tucked away in Corvo's ragged coat over his heart or something equally depressing. Daud tries not to think about it. He lays his hands on the table and Daud can't help but notice the blood dried there. (Corvo still refuses to wear gloves.)

Daud represses the urge to sigh. It says something that he's not terribly surprised, though he has no interest in examining what that something is. At any rate, he'd sworn off killing and more or less forbidden his men from the same, but he had no authority over Corvo. The man had proven that he could and would kill even if there were alternatives back in Dunwall.

"What happened?" Daud asks.

Corvo licks his lips, doesn't look at Daud. Does look at his bloody, trembling hands. "There was- a girl," he says.

Daud closes his eyes briefly. Corvo's still sitting there when he opens them again, but he wasn't expecting any less. "Is she-" He doesn't know how to finish that. Alive? Dead? Either one is damning.

"I saved her," Corvo says. "It was a young couple. Highwaymen. They killed him, but I saved her."

"You did what you could," Daud says; he cannot imagine any less. "Where is she now?" Because if she's somewhere on the road, he'll need to send someone out to deal with that.

"I escorted her to the nearest settlement," Corvo says. "And then I went back and took care of the- bodies."

"That's good," Daud says.

"They knew my face," Corvo says. "I couldn't leave them alive."

"No, you couldn't have," Daud agrees.

Corvo doesn't say anything for several long minutes; he barely moves, apart from the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes.

"You saved her, Corvo," Daud says at length. "Those men deserved to die." The lie rolls easily off his tongue; it could even be the truth, for all he knows.

"They were going to-"

"-but they didn't. You saved her, Corvo," Daud says again.

He never was the one to talk the Whalers through post-kill guilt. Billie had done it for some of the girls, depending, but usually the task fell to Rulfio or Thomas. Daud isn't entirely certain that this  _is_ about guilt, anyway; Corvo had been unrepentant about Havelock and Martin's deaths.

"I shouldn't have. What if she talks, what if-"

"It will be fine," Daud says. "And if anything does happen, we'll deal with it."

Corvo sways, catches himself. He still hasn't looked at Daud. His face looks sallow in the lamplight; unhealthy. The bags under his eyes seem more pronounced than they do in the light of day.

"I'll get you something to wash your hands," Daud says. Corvo makes a noncommittal noise.

He's toying with the heart when Daud returns with a basin and a dark towel. The water is cold, but Corvo doesn't complain as he dutifully rinses his hands under Daud's watchful eye. The heart sits on the table between them, beating steadily.

"You should sleep," Daud says, after Corvo dries his hands and pushes the basin aside.

Corvo frowns as he picks the heart back up. "No."

Daud keeps a tight leash on his frustration. When he's certain that he can speak without letting his annoyance show, he says, "Spar, then?"

Corvo nods and stands, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. Daud winces slightly, but Corvo doesn't seem to notice. "No powers," Corvo says.

"Void gaze only," Daud counters. "I'm not fighting in the dark."

Corvo cocks his head, actually looks at Daud for the first time since sitting down. "What does that let you do?" he asks, following Daud out the backdoor towards the sparring ring. It's fenced in, though the structure is rather shoddy; it was the Whalers' first attempt to build something like that, and it shows. Still, it serves its purpose. The grass has been worn away in places, so that the ground is more dirt than green.

Daud sets the lamp against one of the posts. "See in the dark, see items of note - weapons, food, wires, runes - and other people. I can see their lines of sight as well."

"You can see runes?" Corvo sounds surprised.

"Can't you?" Locating the runes and bone charms would be tedious in the extreme if he had to rely entirely upon the faint, hissing music such artifacts emit.

"The heart beats faster when they're near," Corvo says. "Everything else is the same for me, though."

Daud frowns as he ducks into the ring. It's a cool night and he regrets not grabbing a heavier shirt; but if they're going to be fighting it won't be an issue in a few minutes anyhow. "The mark glows when I'm close to them and I'm using my void gaze," Daud says.

Corvo's face is just visible in the light the lamp gives off; he's frowning.

Daud rolls his shoulders, shifting his weight. "You sure you don't want to turn in, Corvo?" he asks as blandly as he can manage. He can guess at the direction of Corvo's thoughts: why would the Outsider gift Corvo with the heart if he could've given Corvo void gaze instead?

The other man twitches, pocketing the heart then carefully removing his coat. He folds it over the fence and joins Daud in the ring. "If you're tired, you can say so."

Daud smirks and turns out the lamp, clenching his left hand briefly to activate his void gaze; Corvo's mark flares to life a moment before it activates, the single bright point before the world swims back into focus. "Ready when you are."

* * *

"I don't want to talk about it," Daud says the next morning when Hobson looks askance at the impressive black eye blooming on the right side of his face. Corvo won this time.

"You shouldn't keep secrets from your medical practitioner, sir," Rinaldo says. He pretends to be engrossed in his porridge when Daud glares at him. "This is really good. Who made it?"

"Attano," Hobson says, and pops the last bit of his toast into his mouth.

Rinaldo's look of horror cheers Daud immensely, as does the silence that descends. It is broken only by the periodic clinking of Rinaldo's spoon against the bowl. The coffee helps too; Daud didn't get much sleep last night.

Corvo slips into the last seat at the table, between Daud and Rinaldo, several minutes later. Daud doesn't startle - he'd seen Corvo enter the room - but Rinaldo flinches hard enough to rattle the whole table.

"Are you enjoying that?" Corvo asks mildly. He still looks exhausted, but gone is the despair that he'd been exuding last night.

"Ye- no- uh," Rinaldo stammers, looking around the room with a leashed sort of panic.

"You just said it was really good," Daud says. It's a struggle to keep a straight face when Rinaldo shoots him a look of utter betrayal, but Daud manages it.

"It is good," Rinaldo says, dragging the syllables out uncertainly.

"I'm glad," Corvo says. "I made too much for one person."

Rinaldo nods quickly, looking relieved.

"But next time you should ask," Corvo adds. "I don't care if you're a former assassin or not, it's good manners."

"I will," Rinaldo promises fervently.

"Good," Corvo says, and takes a sip of his coffee.

The exchange is enough to make Daud forget about the faint throbbing from the right side of his face, and his good mood lasts for most of the morning's tasks.

* * *

Corvo continues to disappear, sometimes for days at a time, but he always comes back. Usually with clean and steady hands, no indication of how he spent his time away apart from the dust and dirt on his clothes. When he does show up with blood under his nails (always in the dead of night, like he thinks the Whalers will judge him for it or something) he sometimes agrees to spar.

On the rare occasions when he refuses to do that, or attempt to sleep, Daud leads him into the common room and sits him down in the set of matching armchairs and- talks. About all sorts of things. Stupid mundane stories about his day, helping the Whalers set up a fence or trying to figure out basic agricultural practices. He refuses to have anything to do with the livestock, though he will sometimes throw sticks for the mutts that have shown up. If it's been a particularly boring day or if he simply doesn't feel like talking about that, Daud will talk about his mother; he never discusses the time between when he was taken from her and when they arrived here, though.

He talks until Corvo offers some comment, quiet and wry, or until Corvo manages to doze off despite everything, curled in the armchair. The few times Daud had tried to slip out, no matter how quiet he was, Corvo had always woken. He usually ends up sitting awake, thinking, though he does end up falling asleep at some point as well. If Corvo has nightmares, he doesn't wake Daud; and he's always gone in the morning when Daud wakes, the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen.

It isn't perfect, far from it. The Whalers are still leery of Corvo; for his part, Corvo just ignores them unless he can't. Daud's only ever seen him speak to the Whalers that live in the farmhouse.

They still haven't figured out how to cultivate the grapevines, though some of them have books on the subject and Daud's reasonably certain Thomas and Rulfio are making inquiries when they go into town. He's not worried about it; at some point, they'll get the hang of things. Hopefully it will be before the coin Daud has stashed away runs out, but even if it's not, they have options.

It'll be a convenient excuse to get back into business, even if he doesn't intend to kill anyone else. He could broker information, for instance. Daud finds himself becoming restless with the pastoral life, though so far he's been able to keep himself occupied.

* * *

Then someone starts leaving Daud _gifts_.

At first, he doesn't think anything of it. Rulfio is particularly good at anticipating what anyone in their group might come to need. So when a new pair appears on his desk a few days after he managed to wreck his last pair of gloves while attempting to repair a section of fence, Daud's surprised but not immediately suspicious.

It's a little strange that Rulfio looks at him blankly when Daud thanks him, but Daud brushes it off, telling himself that one of the other Whalers must have noticed.

Daud finds a heavily fictionalized account of his exploits in Dunwall on his bedside table a few weeks later. The last job he undertook for Burrows is conspicuously absent from the narrative; no one has realized that he was the one who murdered the Empress. Sometimes it bothers him to think that Corvo is still wanted for his crime, but he never quite works up the nerve to ask the other man about it.

"Good book?" Corvo asks, deadpan, when he finds Daud reading it in the common room.

"It's full of shit," Daud says honestly. The author has painted him as some kind of champion of the poor which is- ridiculous. The only thing he shares in common with fictional Daud is a name and the title of assassin.

"But you're still reading it," Corvo says, smirking.

Daud finds himself grinning back; he looks back down at the page. "Only so I can mock it later."

He tucks it into his bookshelf when he's done, though, beside the book Billie left him.

* * *

The next gift he finds is a shirt in the exact same shade of red as the coat he no longer wears. It's sitting on top of his desk, folded neatly. Daud looks at it blankly for several seconds, then shrugs and gets into bed. He'll deal with it in the morning.

 The shirt is exactly where he left it when he wakes up. One of the Whalers must have bought it when a group of them went into town yesterday. But _why_ , that's the question.

Daud frowns at his reflection when the shirt fits perfectly. It's tighter across the shoulders than he usually likes, but he doesn't mind it.

"Nice shirt, sir," Hobson says when he goes downstairs. Daud looks at him narrowly, but he seems sincere.

"Thank you," he says, moving past to enter the kitchen and get some coffee.

Corvo and Rinaldo are the only people sitting at the table in the small dining area. They both look up when Daud enters, nursing a cup of coffee. Rinaldo mumbles a sleepy "Morning," and returns to his toast. The grogginess explains his apparent ease at sharing the same space with Corvo.

"New shirt?" Corvo asks as Daud sits down opposite him.

"Yes," Daud mutters. He takes a sip of coffee. "I found it in my room last night."

Rinaldo chokes but his eyes are steadfastly averted when Daud glances at him. "Went down the wrong tube," he gasps, face red from coughing.

Corvo hums thoughtfully as he leans over and pounds on Rinaldo's back. "It's a nice colour."

Daud nods and takes another sip of coffee. "It always was my favourite," he admits.

Rinaldo's chair scrapes loudly across the floor as he stands abruptly. "I need to grab some- water," he croaks, and practically runs out of the room with his half-empty plate.

"You forgot your glass," Daud calls after him, but receives no reply.

"It looks good," Corvo says. He's focussed on eating his toast when Daud looks back at him.

"Thanks," Daud says, and drains his mug. Rinaldo's nowhere in evidence when Daud goes back into the kitchen for a refill.

* * *

"-looks really good, sir," Thomas is saying earnestly when Daud goes back into the house that afternoon.

"Who does?" Daud asks, peering into the common room. It's unusually empty, but that has more to do with Corvo's presence than anything: most of the Whalers continue to avoid him, though Thomas is one obvious exception. The two of them are sitting in the matching pair of armchairs in front of the window.

Corvo looks at Thomas. Thomas looks out the window.

"Kent," Thomas says a beat later.

Daud frowns, glancing briefly at the Whaler walking past the window - Kent - before fixing the look on Thomas.

"The boys looks like they could use some help," Thomas says, springing to his feet. "We can talk later, sir," he says to Corvo. There's a pause as Thomas glances self-consciously at Daud then quickly adds, "I mean, Corvo." He transverses away.

"Since when do they call you 'sir'?" Daud asks idly, wandering over to take Thomas' chair.

"Only Thomas does," Corvo says. "I'll tell him to stop."

"It's fine," Daud says, shrugging.

Corvo studies him for a moment, then nods. He returns to his journal, his pen scratching softly against the paper.

Daud picks up a book lying on the end table, rolling his eyes when he sees it's _Daughter of Tyvia_. "Really?" he mutters, tossing it back down.

"Not to your tastes?" Corvo asks, a smirk playing across his face.

Daud raises his eyebrows. "I prefer _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ , myself," he says. "Though they're both rather... overdone. I must have found dozens of copies of both around my bases in- the past," he adds, and grimaces when he remembers some of the places he'd found it. "You'd think they'd all have read it by now."

"Maybe it's the same one," Corvo says offhandedly, glancing up from whatever he's writing.

Daud can't hide his horrified expression at the suggestion. Corvo starts laughing, quietly at first, then louder until he's shaking and clutching at his sides, journal forgotten on his lap. With a start, Daud realizes it's the first time he's ever heard Corvo do so.

It's a sound he could get used to.

* * *

"All right," Daud says, taking Rulfio aside one day, "who's the one leaving these-" he hesitates to say 'gifts', "- _things_ for me everywhere." He holds up the latest, a dagger from a prominent Karnacan blacksmith with matching sheath. It's obviously well-made, but the decoration is limited to a slightly stylized hilt and guard; nothing ostentatious. It is, Daud was disconcerted to discover when he found the latest gift, what he would have chosen for himself if he could have justified the purchase.

The one before that had been a bottle of Old Dunwall whiskey; the half-drunk bottle is hidden in the trunk at the foot of his bed, as Daud has no intention of sharing it.

Rulfio looks him in the eye; he's one of the few Whalers who isn't a terribly clumsy liar without his mask. On the other hand, Daud's the one who taught him to lie. "I don't know," he says.

Daud fixes him with a glare. Rulfio stares back, unperturbed.

"You were acting strangely the first time I wore the shirt," Daud says.

Rulfio doesn't bat an eyelash. "Which shirt are you referring to?" He relents when Daud narrows his eyes, says, "I wasn't expecting to see you in that shade of red."

"You always go on the outings to the city," Daud says. "Who bought it?"

Rulfio raises an eyebrow. "It's just a blade, sir." Adds, "We split up and go our separate ways once we enter the city," when Daud scowls. He sighs, breaking eye contact. "I'll look into it," he says, resigned.

"See that you do," Daud mutters, stepping back.

The gifts stop after that.

* * *

It's not that Daud makes a habit of eavesdropping on the Whalers, exactly. But when he hears two people whispering furiously to each other around the corner, he instinctively gets closer to listen. The conversations are sometimes scarring, but usually they're good for a few moments of entertainment.

"I found it in that shed-" Dimitri's saying, but Finn quickly cuts him off with, "No way, no you didn't, _did you really_ -"

"-yeah, it was a shrine to the Outsider..."

"Lord Corvo is going to be so mad." Finn sounds a mixture of horrified and impressed.

"He's not actually a lord... And I only took one! There was a whole bunch of them-"

" _So. Mad._ "

"Wh-what should I do with it-"

Daud steps around the side of the house and both of the Whalers straighten up. Dimitri tucks something behind his back, looking guilty.

"Give it to him!" Finn hisses, elbowing Dimitri, hard.

"Sorry, sir," Dimitri says, quickly pushing the rune into Daud's hand. "Won't happen again, I swear." He transverses away, followed a moment later by Finn. They reappear at the edge of the rows of vines, seem to realize that their retreat was not quite as thorough as it would have been back in the Flooded District's warren of half-collapsed ruins, and sprint off.

Daud looks down at the rune, which hisses softly in his hands. He doesn't use void gaze often anymore, since there are no more assassinations to carry out or runes and bone charms to find, but if someone (Corvo, apparently) has built a shrine to the Outsider-

The shed at the back of the property is lit up in green.

Daud finds its interior draped with the violet fabric characteristic of shrines to the Outsider when he opens the door; a truly impressive number of runes is arrayed on the small table, interspersed with bone charms in a strange pattern.

The Outsider appears before him as soon as Daud closes the door to the shack.

"I did not foresee this," the Outsider says, crossing his arms over his chest. Were he human, Daud might describe his tone as reproachful. There's a faint line between his brows as he looks down at Daud.

It takes Daud several seconds to realize that the Outsider expects a response, several more to come up with something vaguely respectful. He settles on a neutral, "The vineyard?"

"Yes," the Outsider says impatiently. "It was such a small possibility; you've never been the indulgent type."

"I thought I'd try something new," Daud says with a lightness he doesn't feel.

The Outsider stares at him; it's what Daud imagines being put under a microscope- or perhaps vivisection- must feel like. He shifts his weight, a bit surprised that he _can_. Usually these exchanges are a great deal more one-sided.

"What if I told you there was a conspiracy to kill the Duke of Serkonos," the Outsider says at length.

"Not interested," Daud says.

The Outsider cocks his head, eyes narrowing. Daud looks away; there's no point in posturing with a being such as this. Even warped by the aura of the Void that the Outsider exudes, the inside of the shack is singularly uninspiring. The exposed boards visible behind the violet fabric is old and warped. It is, however, better than trying to meet the abyss of the Outsider's gaze.

"Corvo said the same thing," the Outsider muses, to Daud's surprise. He adds, "There isn't a conspiracy."

 "You lied?" He's not sure why this surprises him as well, but it does.

"It didn't work," the Outsider says, as if that will make up for it.

Daud rubs a hand over his mouth as he studies the Outsider. If he isn't mistaken, there's a slump to the creature's shoulders that could betray disappointment. Absurdly, he feels the urge to reassure the Outsider. It's a disquieting sensation. He puts the thought firmly from his mind and refuses to feel guilt. He hadn't held the creature's interest for years; drawing the Outsider's attention again, no matter how briefly, isn't something that he wants any longer.

"Surely there are others who've caught your interest," he says.

The Outsider shrugs. "Your traitorous second, perhaps."

"I don't want to know," Daud says, any charitable feelings he might have been harbouring disappearing immediately.

"You worry about her," the Outsider says, his tone interrogative.

"She made her choices," Daud says. "I don't want her dead, but I don't want you to tell me her fate either."

"Interesting," the Outsider says. "You humans are so contrary." He sounds, if anything, baffled.

Daud raises his eyebrows but doesn't rise to the bait.

The Outsider spreads his hands. "Why build me a shrine if he reviles me? You stopped that after I stopped appearing to you."

 _But you were still watching?_ Daud doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know, not now. "To appease you, perhaps," he says. He resists the urge to lean back as the Outsider floats closer, adds, "Many people build shrines for you, for all sorts of reasons."

"They want my power," the Outsider says. "That is the only reason, no matter how they try to rationalize it." His brow furrows briefly. "Except Corvo."

"I don't know why you think I would have an explanation," Daud says.

The Outsider scoffs at him. "Corvo is certainly in your thoughts with unusual frequency. I thought you might have a unique perspective."

"... If you can see our thoughts-"

"-it's akin to reading words on a page," the Outsider says. "One may infer certain things from contextual clues and prior experience. In this case, I lack the frame of reference to- understand." The frustration is back in his voice, obvious in the unusually jerky movements of his hands.

Daud isn't sure what he was expecting to happen when he entered the shrine, but it wasn't this. He'd thought the Outsider was done with him, after those last taunting words in Dunwall; Daud's done nothing remotely interesting since landing on Serkonos, and he has no plans to change that.

Well. Perhaps the Outsider  _is_ done with Daud. It seems like the creature is only interested in talking about Corvo.

"Do you need to understand?" Daud asks; he half-wishes the shack were a bit larger so he could pace, or just step back without hitting the door. "Is this not- novel enough for you?"

The Outsider's lip curls back, revealing sharp teeth. There are too many for a human mouth; Daud focuses on his oily, inhuman eyes instead. "Well," the Outsider says, as if speaking to himself, "I suppose dear Corvo has no more insight into your mind, for all that you often dominate his thoughts. You two are a matched pair in more ways than one."

Daud opens his mouth to- demand an explanation, hypocritical as that might be, or perhaps to tell the Outsider to stop fucking around; but the creature disappears before the words form in his mind.

The tiny room does not fade into complete darkness, however; sunlight streams through the door that Daud distinctly remembers closing.

Corvo's standing just inside the threshold when Daud's vision clears, two runes tucked under his arm. He looks like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Daud stares back. He's still off balance from, well, everything the Outsider had - in typical cryptic fashion - imparted to him.

"It's not done yet," Corvo mutters, looking away first. He edges around Daud, who suddenly realizes that there really isn't enough room for two people in the shack.

"There's not usually so many runes in the shrines that I've found," Daud says; his voice isn't quite casual, but if Corvo notices he gives no sign of it.

Corvo shrugs, carefully placing the latest two additions on the small table.

"Is that where you've been going? To retrieve runes?"

Corvo nods. "I thought if I built a shrine, he'd stop- coming into my dreams."

 _Dear_ Corvo, Daud thinks. The Outsider has facetiously called him an old friend, but the creature has never been so intimate with Daud. "I see."

The look Corvo shoots him is annoyed. "If you want that one, you can have it," he says and Daud realizes that he's still holding the rune that Dimitri had shoved into his hands.

"I don't want it," Daud says, putting it on top of the stack.

Corvo makes an impatient noise and snatches it away. He fusses with the arrangement for several moments, changing the order of the runes for no reason that Daud can discern; he tries not to stare.

"I want to spar," Corvo says, when he's done with that. Daud's more than happy to oblige him.

* * *

"Corvo's started training some of the less experienced men," Thomas says, appearing at his side during a brief break.

They've finally begun to work on the vineyard itself, but it's slow going. They still don't know much of anything about cultivating grapes and they're leery of damaging the vines when they try to shore up the shoddy supports.

Daud raises his eyebrows. "I've noticed."

Thomas gives him a disappointed look that Daud isn't entirely certain he deserves. "Those who attend the impromptu lessons seem to be improving," is all he says though.

Daud nods; he isn't entirely certain where Thomas is going with this.

"Just give it up," Hobson says, ambling into view from the untidy rows of vines. "Do you really want to get caught in the middle of this, Thomas?"

"We're getting there," Daud says, irritated. "We've replaced a whole row of supports already."

Hobson looks at him pityingly. Thomas just looks pained.

"The new row does look better, Daud," Thomas says, in a defeated sort of voice.

Daud scowls and goes off to find some water.

* * *

"I've noticed you're training some of the newer recruits," Daud says the next morning, breaking the comfortable silence that usually holds sway when they eat breakfast.

Corvo blinks, looking pleasantly surprised at Daud's words. He nods.

"I appreciate it. Some of them were practically useless," Daud says. "I think a few of them might be more suited to your style in any case."

"It's true," Corvo agrees, and takes a sip of his coffee. "Not everyone can wave their sword around like a barbarian relying on brute strength."

"Hey," Daud says, but there's no heat in his voice. Corvo just smirks at him, unrepentant. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you," he adds. "Just tell me if there's anything I can do to help."

"Anything?" Corvo asks, his smirk fading. There's an intent look in his eyes that makes Daud uncomfortable.

He has a moment of panic, imagining some ridiculous sarcastic request that Corvo might come up with, and quickly adds, "Demonstrating techniques or collecting runes, anything like that."

"Ah," Corvo says, and turns his attention back to his meal. "I'll keep that in mind."

Daud resists the urge to drum his fingers on the table, unable to shake the feeling that he had somehow ruined this conversation. To distract himself, he applies himself to his food too.

"You could help me show them a block," Corvo says several minutes later. He's toying with his spoon, scraping it idly across the bottom of his empty bowl. "They're still terrified of me and no one ever volunteers when I ask them to."

"They'll warm up to you," Daud says, though privately he wonders if that will ever happen. This increased interaction between Corvo and the Whalers can only be a good thing, surely. "I'd be happy to help."

Corvo smiles faintly. "Good. Be ready in ten minutes." He rises, taking his empty dishes into the kitchen to be washed. A few moments later, Daud hears the door open and close as Corvo leaves.

Hobson and Thomas are standing in the hallway when Daud emerges, his own dishes put in the wash basin with Corvo's.

"-told you it was useless," Hobson's saying to Thomas.

"What is?" Daud asks.

"Trying to beat Hobson at Nancy," Thomas says quickly. "I'm hungry, are you hungry? I'll go make some toast." He hurries past Daud into the kitchen, leaving him alone with Hobson in the hall.

Daud tries to glare Hobson into submission, but the Whaler's physician doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. He's the most inscrutable of the senior Whalers, secure in his position as the only one with an actual education in medicine, and Daud soon gives up.

"Don't you have anything better to do than gossip?" he demands irritably.

"No," Hobson says. "The only exciting thing that happens is training accidents. The most common injuries that I have to deal with these days are splinters or crushed thumbs."

Daud scowls.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping Corvo demonstrate new techniques?" Hobson adds in a bored voice, and joins Thomas in the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

* * *

"What is it."

Daud looks at the lumpy, poorly-wrapped bundle that Dimitri has just shoved into his hands with undisguised suspicion.

Aedan hovers awkwardly at Dimitri's side, looking as if he would rather be elsewhere. Several of the other Whalers around their age are watching with interest, not making any attempt to hide it, though they do remain a safe distance away.

"Open it," Dimitri says.

Daud does so, wary of some sort of prank. The Whalers have never had the nerve to prank him before, but with the relaxing of authority that has come with their transition to the vineyard, he wouldn't be surprised to become a target. When the brown paper peels apart to reveal a soft, dark grey thing, Daud can only stare blankly.

"It's your scarf," Dimitri says brightly, grabbing the length of knitted wool out of his lax fingers. "I wanted it to be black but we didn't add enough dye. Grey is the exact opposite of ostentatious, though, so I figured it would be fine!" He has it looped once, twice, around Daud's neck and lower face before he can react.

"Dimitri!" Aedan hisses, looking horrified.

"Was it you?" Daud asks blankly, still off balance. He'd forgotten entirely about the stupid scarf that Dimitri had bribed him with regarding the sheep.

"Yeah, I knitted it myself. The wool isn't as refined as what you'd find in the shops so it's kind of lumpy in places, but I think it adds character," Dimitri says proudly. "You do like it, right?" he adds, looking worried for the first time.

"It's fine," Daud says.

"Fine! That's high praise from you, Master Daud," Dimitri cheers. "I told you he'd like it, Aedan." He punches his partner in the shoulder. Aedan's still watching him uneasily, tensed as if on the verge of flight; the other Whalers have begun to drift away, apparently losing interest in Daud's lacklustre reaction.

"The other gifts," Daud says. "Was that you too?"

Dimitri just looks at him blankly until Aedan cuts in, "No. No, that was- someone else."

"Who?" Daud asks, stepping forward.

"You mean that red shirt and the dagger?" Dimitri asks, recognition dawning in his voice even as Aedan shoots him an alarmed look. "That was-"

"Nice scarf, Daud," Corvo says, looming up behind the young Whalers.

Aedan twitches; Dimitri actually yelps and jumps. "Who knows who it was," Aedan says quickly, looking from Corvo to Daud and back again. "I just know it wasn't us, haha." He grabs Dimitri's arm and tugs, but the other Whaler refuses to budge.

"Did you want one? I don't know if I can do the same blue as your coat, Lord Corvo, but I can try," Dimitri says.

Corvo makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm not a lord."

"We'll get right on that, uh, Corvo," Aedan says, grabbing Dimitri's other arm. They disappear with a puff of displaced air as Aedan tranverses them away.

The scarf is making Daud's face entirely too warm. He quickly pulls it off and stuffs it in his pocket.

Corvo isn't a terribly expressive person at the best of times and Daud is at a loss to read the current expression on his face.

"So you can come into town now," Corvo says. "In the colder months, that is."

"I suppose," Daud says. It would be nice to leave the vineyard; he has been feeling restless lately.

Corvo nods and walks past him, entering the house. Daud stares after him, until an argument breaks out between a trio of nearby Whalers and distracts him.

* * *

Daud stashes the scarf at the bottom of his trunk and puts the whole issue of his mysterious benefactor out of his mind entirely. He cannot abide a mystery but- something's making him hesitant to pursue the matter further.

And then he wakes up one night to find the heart lying on his bedside table. The sight of it is a thousand times more terrifying to wake up to than Corvo ever has been.

"He does not know what else to give you," the heart whispers, its voice nearly inaudible beneath its beating. Daud's no expert, but it seems to be beating more rapidly than it has the other times he's seen it.

"Please tell me you're not a gift," Daud says, once he manages to overcome the implications of- that. He tries not to think about the fact that he's _talking_ to a construct of flesh and steel of arguable sentience; his life hasn't been normal since the Outsider marked him (and even longer before that if he's honest) but this must be crossing some kind of line, surely.

"The one who is all things gifted Corvo with the heart of a living creature," the heart says scathingly; Daud can scarcely keep himself from sagging with relief. "I know many secrets," it adds. "Hold me in your palm and you might learn some of them."

Daud looks at it. He still has the scars from the last time he'd tried to hold the heart.

"I know many secrets," the heart says again, threateningly.

Daud doesn't move.

"Shall I tell you your dreams? Strange, to think that a Knife could dream," the heart says. "You are content, yes, but are you happy? I know of what you dream. In truth, it would take you hours to map his scars-"

Daud twitches, gives in. He gingerly picks up the heart, ready to drop it at the slightest indication of slicing intent. It is cool in his hand. He was expecting it to be slick or tacky; but it feels... dry; leathery. He is tempted to touch the circular lens, or perhaps trace the path of a section of wire with a finger, but it is a fleeting thought.

"The two of you deserve each other," the heart says.

For the sake of what remains of his sanity, Daud decides to take this statement at face value. He clears his throat. "How did you get here?"

"The Void is everywhere and nowhere."

Daud frowns.

"The view from the roof is exceptional tonight," the heart says.

"It's cloudy," Daud says; he can't see the moon or the stars when he looks out the window.

Something sharp presses against his palm, despite the fact that he hasn't adjusted his grip at all. "The view from the roof is exceptional tonight," the heart reiterates.

"Fuck," Daud mutters. He puts the heart back down briefly to pull a pair of trousers on, strap a knife or three in various places. Usually he doesn't feel the need to carry around multiple weapons any longer, but he typically doesn't wake up to the heart ordering him around either.

Understandably, the old house doesn't have any  conveniently exposed ducts or pipes. The fact makes climbing up to the roof with the heart in his hand a difficult, though not insurmountable, task. Daud doesn't bother trying, however; he can only imagine what would happen if he dropped the thing. The heart's beating calms as he transverses to the roof.

Corvo is curled up awkwardly, his stupid ragged coat draped halfway over his body. He is asleep, and does not stir when Daud appears on the roof.

Daud looks at the heart expectantly, but it doesn't light up or whisper taunts at him. It just continues to beat steadily. Frowning, he aims it at Corvo and squeezes carefully.

"Corvo Attano. The last Lord Protector. When he was near, the Empress' heart was at peace," the heart whispers, softer than usual.

"He loved her," the heart whispers.

"He hates himself as he is now but he can forget, for a while, when he is around you," the heart whispers.

"He does not know what it is he feels for you but he knows it is not hate," the heart whispers.

Daud doesn't drop the heart, but it's a close thing.

"He loved her," the heart whispers again.

"He still loves y- her," Daud says, tensing when Corvo sighs and shifts in his sleep. The heart doesn't reply as Daud waits with bated breath to see whether Corvo will wake.

"I cannot forgive him," the heart whispers, so soft that Daud barely hears the words.

"Can you say something that I might actually consider telling him," Daud says.

The heart doesn't say anything for a long time, even when Daud experimentally squeezes it again. Corvo's started snoring faintly, his head turned at a horrendous angle that's making Daud's neck twinge in sympathy. Daud will wake him up in a moment if the heart doesn't say anything. He'll have to find a way to slip the heart back into Corvo's pocket without waking him first, of course, but that's a minor detail.

"I do not blame him for... the death of the Empress," the heart whispers.

"I think the only who does that is Corvo himself," Daud hisses, which does wake Corvo this time. Daud freezes as Corvo sits up, rubbing at his neck with one hand as he blinks up at the other man.

"... Daud?"

"For the death of young Lady Emily," the heart whispers.

Corvo's expression shutters and he goes stiff.

"It's not what it looks like," Daud says, making an aborted motion with the heart. He winces and curses, nearly dropping the damn thing when it cuts into his palm.

Corvo catches the heart and quickly tucks it away as Daud examines his hand. Compared to the last time, this cut is a mere scratch.

Small mercies, Daud thinks sourly.

"What did she say?" Corvo asks.

Daud sits down gingerly beside him. "A bunch of cryptic bullshit."

"Don't talk about her like that," Corvo says sharply, fixing him with a glare that Daud doesn't meet.

He doesn't apologize. What he does say is, "The heart said it doesn't blame you for Emily's death."

"Don't lie to me," Corvo snaps. He looks seconds away from running; while Daud can't say he particularly wants to have this conversation, the alternative isn't any better.

"I'm not lying," Daud says. "That's what it told me."

Corvo pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them and looks away, staring out at the darkened vineyard.

"Why would I lie about that?" Daud presses.

"I don't know," Corvo mutters, his voice muffled. "To make me feel better?" He laughs bitterly. "I don't know why you do anything."

"Guilt and regret, mostly," Daud says, leaning back on one hand. He tips his head back to stare at the sky, but the clouds obscure the moon and the stars.

"So you brought me along out of- what, your lingering guilt over Jessamine's murder?"

Daud exhales, deliberately relaxing his instinctively clenched jaw. "Yes."

Corvo stands abruptly. "I still haven't forgiven you," he says, pacing away from Daud. "Just because I'm training your men- and those gifts-"

"-wait, that was you?" Daud demands. The heart had certainly implied as much, but it's another thing to hear an admission from Corvo himself.

(If he's entirely honest with himself- an admittedly dubious prospect- his benefactor's identity had been fairly obvious for some time.)

Corvo's shoulders hunch and he quickly looks away. They both flinch when a scraping sound drifts up to them from below.

"OK, who the  _fuck_ is on the roof at this _ungodly_ hour of the morning," Rinaldo shouts.

" _Outsider's eyes, Rinaldo_!" Thomas' reply is muffled but audible.

"I don't actually care who it is," Rinaldo snarls. "But you need to get the fuck out, some of us are _trying to sleep_."

"Shut up," Corvo says, stalking to the edge of the roof.

"Oh fuck, oh shit, I'm sorry," Rinaldo says all at once, panic bleeding into his voice. The window slams shut hard enough to rattle the glass.

"... I'm going to bed," Corvo mutters. He flinches when Daud grabs his wrist to stop him.

"You won't sleep again," Daud says, then wishes he could get away with transversing to his room or goading Corvo into punching him in the face. Confessing knowledge of Corvo's sleeping habits - as obvious as they might be - is so far from appropriate that Daud doesn't know what to do with himself.

Corvo just looks at him, unimpressed. He breaks Daud's grip easily and steps away.

"The heart said you don't- hate me," Daud says quickly.

Corvo doesn't answer him. The mark on his hand flares bright and he disappears.

* * *

"Well," Hobson says the next morning, in an exaggeratedly patient voice that Daud would otherwise take offense to, "have you told him that you don't hate him either."

Daud frowns. He's already begun to regret telling the Whalers present at breakfast a (highly edited) version of the events that had transpired last night, though it had seemed like a good idea when he'd first started; some of them approach actually competent human beings, and they can give good advice. Daud's never been particularly interested in pursuing a relationship of this nature (quick, anonymous fucks or mutually agreed upon stress relief were more suited to the assassin lifestyle), and definitely not with someone like Corvo; he can at least recognize that he is not the most objective or discerning when it comes to the man. Which is, hopefully, where the three men eating breakfast with him will come in.

Ideally, Rulfio would be in Rinaldo's place, but Daud hadn't wanted to wait and Rulfio is off supervising something to do with the cows. The less Daud knows about that, the better, as far as he's concerned. He tries not to think about the fact that there are now cows, plural, on his property at all.

"It should be obvious," Daud mutters, but his voice doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. The look Hobson fixes him with reinforces the impression.

"As obvious as him not hating you?" Rinaldo asks, then cringes under Daud's glare.

"Corvo has never done anything to wrong me," Daud says. "I have no reason to hate him."

Hobson groans. "How did I get roped into this, anyway?" This question he directs at Thomas, who shrugs.

"Perhaps you could get him a gift," Thomas suggests.

Daud nods. "He likes..." It quickly becomes apparent that he doesn't know what sorts of things Corvo likes.

"Outsider's eyes," Hobson says, breaking the awkward silence with his exasperated words. "Get him something similar to what he got you."

"He only wears that coat," Daud says defensively. "And he doesn't care about weapons."

"A book?" This disinterested suggestion comes from Rinaldo.

It brings Daud back to the question of what Corvo actually likes, and the table falls quiet apart from the clinking of cutlery and mugs.

"Music of some sort?" Thomas says slowly. "He doesn't sleep very well."

Hobson looks at him, just looks at him, and Thomas hunches his shoulders and looks away.

"Why did I get up this morning, I should've just gone back to sleep," Rinaldo mutters, staring at his glass of milk like he wishes it was something much stronger.

"If you don't have anything helpful to add, shut up," Daud says, because he's also aware of the sleep issue and it's given him a fairly good idea which he doesn't want to lose.

"I don't know what kind of music Corvo likes, though," Thomas says, faintly apologetic.

"I have something in mind," Daud says, pushing away from the table. "I'm going away for a few days. You're in charge, Thomas."

* * *

Daud repurposes the metal pieces from various bone charms that he never uses, but none of the whalebone seems _right_ for the charm he has in mind. There was a slaughterhouse in Cullero, he remembers, and there should be a metalworking shop that he can use to fashion the charm once he acquires suitable materials.

The slaughterhouse is much easier to break into than Rothwild's was. For one thing, the butchers aren't on high alert after a strike; they aren't even present, since Daud waits until it closes for the day. A few guards wander the building, but they spend most of their time around the oil storage tanks; the discarded skeletons are of relatively little value.

Daud takes several pieces of bone then slips out with no one the wiser. Night has fallen by then, and he grabs a quick meal at the inn Corvo had recommended all those months ago. The proprietor doesn't seem to recognize him, which suits Daud just fine. He retreats to his room and sets about carving the bone into the correct shape.

He hasn't done this in years, but he falls back into the rhythm all the same after a couple of false starts. Fortunately, he grabbed enough whalebone to practice with. By the time he finishes, it's nearly dawn, so he carefully bundles the bone back up and turns in.

The next day he spends wandering Cullero. He stops in at various shops offering souvenirs for tourists, but none of the curios catch his eye as something that would interest Corvo. He considers, briefly, picking something up for Thomas- but then he would have to get something for all of them, and he has no ideas for what to get Thomas anyway, much less the others.

Daud breaks into a metalworking shop that night and assembles the bone charm; all that's left is to carve the specific symbols and apply a bit of blood to activate it. He returns to his room to do that, nicking a bit of the oil from the lamp in his room to help things along. There's no 'perfect' formula that he's ever found, but despite the fact that he hasn't done this in years, the magic seems to take well enough. He falls asleep with the completed bone charm hissing softly under his pillow.

He catches a ride with a cart out of Cullero the next day. It drops him off at the end of the country lane, but it's still early in the day and the weather looks promising, so Daud finds he doesn't mind the walk back to the vineyard. It was good to go into the city for a couple of days - even in Dunwall, when times were less chaotic, Daud had seldom taken a day off to walk around the city. Acquiring the goods necessary to keep the Whalers operating hadn't been his responsibility in years, and his face had been well enough known that wandering around unmasked was a risk that he had been unwilling to take. For the most part, Daud had remained at the latest base, leaving only to carry out missions or meet with particularly high profile clients.

The newly-carved bone charm hums at his hip, its faint music thrumming up his arm whenever Daud presses a hand to the pouch. It's not quite the same as the one he'd carved for himself, but he's found that no two charms ever are. Perhaps Granny Rags or Delilah could offer some insight into why that is - both of them seemed to have put greater stock in the witchcraft aspect of their Outsider-granted powers - but Daud finds that he doesn't particularly care. He'd refused to complete Granny's 'recipes' for a reason; he had more than enough runes to accomplish everything he needed done without outside help.

Daud tenses, his hand straying to the hilt of his blade when someone suddenly appears next to him, but he doesn't draw when he sees that it's Corvo. He doesn't relax either, though; the tight expression on Corvo's face sets him on edge.

"I thought you'd left," Corvo says without preamble. His expression shifts into one of horror at the admission and he crosses his arm, turning his head away. "Thomas wouldn't tell me anything," he adds in a mutter.

Daud relaxes, grinning in spite of himself. "I had to find some things."

Corvo glances at him, a question obvious in the furrow of his brow.

"I wouldn't leave," Daud adds, resuming his steady pace towards home. The rows of hedges surrounding the property are just visible in the distance. "It's my vineyard, after all."

Corvo nods, falling into step with him. "What were you looking for?"

Daud pulls the bone charm out of the pouch at his belt and holds it out to Corvo, who takes it with a bemused expression. He turns it over carefully, his fingers tracing over the jagged edges as he examines it. The bone is still a pristine white, not faded by time and use as most of the relics are.

"It's for you," Daud explains quickly. "I- have trouble sleeping too, but that bone charm will help keep nightmares away, things like that." He looks ahead, further down the road, a bit nervous to see Corvo's reaction.

"You-" Corvo stops, clears his throat. "You found this for me?"

"I carved it myself," Daud says. Corvo doesn't answer for several long moments, and he's looking down at the charm with an unreadable expression when Daud risks a glance at him. "I know it's- not much, compared to what you gave me, but-"

"It's fine," Corvo says. He looks up, meets Daud's gaze. The intensity of his stare is almost too much for Daud to take, but he finds himself unable to look away. "I-" He breaks off, licks his lips. "Thank you."

Daud shivers, despite the warmth of the day, and looks back up the road once again. "You're welcome."

They walk in silence, until Daud says, "I trust nothing too disastrous happened while I was gone."

Corvo huffs a laugh, tucking the bone charm into his coat. "The sheep escaped, somehow, but Aedan and Dimitri cleaned it up. I think it was Dimitri's fault, because Aedan made him do most of the work," Corvo adds, amused.

Daud snorts. "No casualties?"

"Nothing life-threatening," Corvo says. "Hobson was grumbling about something this morning, though. I didn't catch what."

"Doesn't he always."

"I'll tell him you said that."

"Don't," Daud says, mildly alarmed. He'd never hear the end of it, and it would just be like Hobson to take it out in vicious but seemingly innocent ways while tending to an injury.

Corvo smirks.

* * *

Daud doesn't see Corvo for a couple of days after he returns to the vineyard, but that is hardly unusual. He busies himself with the seemingly endless chores around the property instead, though he finds himself searching the shadows and wandering to the less-traveled edges of the place in the hopes of catching Corvo, or at least seeing him.

It's pathetic behaviour and Daud vows to punish the first Whaler who points it out or even remarks upon it, but he can't bring himself to stop.

He's reading a book about Pandyssia that he picked up in Cullero before bed when Corvo walks into his room and just- settles on his lap, his lean legs bracketing Daud's hips.

"Corvo?" Daud blinks when Corvo plucks the book from his fingers and drops it on the bedside table.

Corvo's a warm, pleasant weight above him, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Daud. "How long was I asleep?" His voice is slightly hoarse, rough with sleep.

"Were you asleep this whole time?" When Corvo nods, Daud adds, "Two days, then."

Corvo hums. "I don't think I thanked you properly for your gift."

Daud licks his lips, watches Corvo's eyes track the movement. "Oh?" he manages, his hands curling around Corvo's hips.

Corvo hums again, shifting purposefully atop his lap. He smiles when Daud's breath hitches and his grip tightens. "I was thinking," he murmurs, leaning forward; he stops close enough that Daud can feel his breath against his face. There's a dangerous but promising glint in his eyes. "I'd keep training your men. They seem to be improving."

Daud huffs a disbelieving laugh out. "How generous."

"I thought so," Corvo says, sitting back with a smirk. He makes to get off, but Daud pulls him back down with a growl.

"And if I said I still owed you for your- gifts-"

Corvo tilts his head, his hands warm on Daud's shoulders through the thin shirt. "Did you have something in mind?" he all but purrs as he leans back in. He laughs when Daud flips them over, pinning Corvo to the bed. He bites Daud's lower lip, hard, when Daud leans up to kiss him, breaking off with a moan when Daud gets a hand in his pants and strokes his half-hard dick. Corvo fumbles at his shirt, his hands shaking as Daud tightens his grip and drags his thumb against Corvo's slit.

Corvo makes a pained noise, but he pushes up into Daud's first all the same so Daud does it again, and again, until his thumb comes away slick and Corvo groans.

Daud pulls back then, smirking a bit at Corvo's sound of protest, and grabs the half-empty vial of oil he keeps in the bedside table.

Corvo shudders when he sees it, fisting a hand in Daud's shirt to pull him back down. Daud laughs despite the pain when their teeth clash together and adjusts the angle only to bite Corvo in return, growling when Corvo worries at the cut on his lip.

Daud pulls away some minutes later, panting, hot all over; Corvo's in much the same state, and he watches Daud with half-lidded eyes as he strips out of his clothes. Corvo's examining the oil when Daud drops his shirt on the floor.

"Done this before, have you?" Corvo asks, the flush in his cheeks and his blown-wide pupils belying his deadpan words.

"Mm." He unfastens his pants as Corvo shrugs out of his coat and shirt. "Had to be quiet, though; the walls are so thin," Daud adds, kicking off his pants. He raises his eyebrows when Corvo's gaze drags down his body, his hands paused at the buttons of his pants.

"Fuck," Corvo says, his hands noticeably less dextrous as he fumbles at the buttons.

Daud climbs back onto the bed, kneeling over his legs as he knocks Corvo's hands away to undo them himself. He urges Corvo to lift his hips, then tosses the garment aside and settles on Corvo bare thighs. "Got a preference?"

Corvo licks his lips, one hand curling around Daud's hip while the other (the marked) trails over an old scar across Daud's chest. Daud presses into the touch, hissing when Corvo drags his nails over the raised skin. "I hope," Corvo says, "that you won't feel the need to be quiet now."

Daud laughs breathlessly, grabbing the vial of oil from the bed. "You want vocal thanks?" he asks as he coats his fingers with oil. He drops the vial again, bracing his free hand on Corvo's shoulder as he leans up. His eyes close as he presses a finger in, a shaky exhale escaping him.

"Yes," Corvo says, low and urgent, his hands stroking restlessly over Daud's skin. His eyes are intent, focussed entirely on Daud's body, when Daud looks at him again.

Usually he just goes for it, but he takes his time tonight, his arousal a steady burn under the weight of Corvo's attention. The impatient noises Corvo's quickly losing control of only spur him on. Daud shudders when Corvo's hand trails lower, stroking too-softly at his dick before Corvo palms his balls. Daud groans and thrusts into his hand, his head dropping forward as he pants.

"I think you can take another," Corvo says, pressing insistently at Daud's perineum.

Daud groans again, his hips jerking. A strangled cry escapes him when Corvo presses a finger in, dry, alongside the two Daud's already working in and out. The gritty drag of it, just shy of too much, leaves him breathless and he arches forward, his dick dragging against Corvo's chest.

"Fuck," Corvo mutters and then he just- lowers his head and fits the head of Daud's dick into his mouth.

Daud shouts, thrusting forward without thought and Corvo takes it, his tongue curling around Daud's dick, lips stretched wide. Daud squeezes his eyes shut because it's too much, he can't-

Corvo braces him with his free hand, his grip perfectly tight on Daud's hip; it's going to leave a bruise and Daud _wants_ the bruise and the marks- Corvo curls his finger, finds that spot that makes Daud writhe and Daud groans, his orgasm barrelling up on him.

"I'm- fuck, Corvo-" His words fade into another strangled cry when Corvo pulls back, his fingers curling tightly around the base of Daud's dick. Daud thrusts forward helplessly, still working his fingers against his prostate like that'll get him there until Corvo grabs his wrist and draws his hand away. "Corvo," Daud says raggedly, feeling vulnerable and flayed open, his lust overwhelming any higher thought. He just wants to get off, but Corvo doesn't relent.

"Is getting off first your way of showing gratitude?" Corvo asks, urging Daud over, onto his back.

"N-no," Daud says, but he can't stop pushing up into Corvo's grip, futile as he knows it is. He makes a high, needy noise that he'll later deny when he sees Corvo fumbling one-handed at the vial of oil. Corvo spills half of what remains on the sheets but the rest he uses to slick up his arousal and Daud is past the point of caring about the mess. "Fuck. I just- thought about this for so long-"

Corvo growls, crowding between Daud's legs. He hooks one over his shoulder, pressing forward so that Daud has to arch to maintain the unnatural position. "How often? Did you fuck yourself with your fingers while I was in the room next to yours?" He guides his dick to Daud's entrance, stops with the head pressed against the loosened ring of muscle and _waits_ , damn him.

Daud groans again, trying to get enough leverage to push back and take Corvo inside him. "O-Outsider's- fuck, yes, yes I did-! I don't know how often, a few times a week, more when y-you started training with the men-"

"Fuck," Corvo snarls, pinning him to the bed with a hand on his chest, the other still wrapped around the base of Daud's dick, as he slowly presses in.

Daud exhales shakily, almost a sob, and flexes his leg, trying to urge Corvo on, but Corvo just stops there, the head of his dick holding him open and nothing else.

"Did you imagine me fucking you?" Corvo demands, his body taut and trembling with his own need.

"Yes," Daud says. "Yes, do it, damn you-"

"That's not very polite," Corvo says, pulling out, and Daud _whines_ , open and empty and still so damn close.

"Please," he gasps, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Please fuck me-"

"Louder," Corvo says, dragging his thumb over Daud's entrance. He leans forward, forcing Daud's leg back towards his chest. "I want everyone to _know_."

"I-" Daud shakes beneath him, his breath coming shallow and fast. He hadn't thought it would be like this, hadn't imagined that Corvo could bring such precise control to bear. "Fuck," he says again, curling a hand around the back of Corvo's head.

Corvo growls but lets Daud pulls his head down, bites at Daud's lip again as he presses three fingers into him all at once. Daud's shout is barely muffled by Corvo's mouth and he arches, his breathing sobbing out of him as Corvo fucks his fingers mercilessly against Daud's prostate.

"Well?" Corvo's grin is bloody, his iris nearly swallowed by pupil as he gazes down at Daud, something feral and possessive on his face.

"Please," Daud says loudly, past the point of caring. "Please, Corvo-" His voice cracks on the name and he whimpers when Corvo withdraws his fingers.

"Louder," Corvo repeats, teasing at Daud's entrance with his dick again.

" _Please fuck me_ ," Daud cries, the last word rising into a shout when Corvo thrusts into him, hard enough to  shift the bed across the floor. He braces his hands against the headboard, eyes shut tightly as Corvo fucks him relentlessly.

"Do you want to come?" Corvo asks, the question punctuated by gasps as he thrusts into Daud hard enough to make the headboard bang rhythmically against the wall. He still hasn't let up his grip on Daud's dick and it's driving him insane as Corvo thrusts into him at the perfect angle. "Look at me, Daud."

Daud looks at him, wordless cries escaping his throat as he presses back against Corvo. His eyelids slip shut without his accord and he sobs when Corvo pulls out almost entirely and just- stays there. When he opens his eyes again, Corvo's watching him intently, his lips parted as he pants.

"Do you want to come?"

" _Yes_ , I want to come, I want- Corvo, please-" His voice is wrecked, rougher than usual and layered with lust and need.

Corvo hums, hitches Daud's other leg over his shoulder and fucks back in hard enough to nearly bend Daud in two. "How badly?"

"Fuck, I- I want to come on your dick, I want it, Corvo, please," Daud cries, all but pinned in this position. He has no leverage, his arms trembling just to stop himself from hitting the headboard with every push.

"Please what?" Corvo demands, his thrusts losing their rhythm. His voice shakes and Daud _aches_.

"Please let me come," Daud says, and Corvo finally loosens his grip, drags his fist up Daud's dick and presses his thumb against Daud's slit, hard-

Daud wails as he comes, his voice breaking on the cry, and Corvo fucks him through it, not letting up at all even when Daud goes limp. His body jerks with each thrust, soft sounds falling from his lips with each drag of Corvo's dick against over-sensitized nerves.

"Come on," Daud says hoarsely, pressing back weakly. "Corvo, come on."

Corvo bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut as he presses in as deeply as he can go and spills inside him.

Daud makes a sound of protest when Corvo stays there, unmoving, after several minutes and tries to push him off. He can't stop the whimper when Corvo eases out of him and drops down heavily on the bed. He's sticky with sweat and come and he wants nothing more than to curl up with Corvo- but he doesn't know if that would be welcome. Sleep would be welcome, now, but his thoughts won't stop circling.

Corvo huffs and hooks a leg over Daud's, pulling him closer. He drags his fingers through the mess on Daud's belly and chest, considers them for a moment then sucks them clean.

"Fuck," Daud says, startled by the shock of lust the sight sends through him. Corvo smirks at him, obviously aware of exactly what he's doing. They're both absolutely disgusting but Daud has no motivation to move, not with Corvo mashed comfortably against his side, sloppily cleaning him up. He starts to say something, but a jaw-cracking yawn interrupts his words and Corvo smirks again.

"Go to sleep," he says, and Daud does.

* * *

The bed's empty when Daud wakes late the next morning, but there's a glass of water on the bedside table that Daud knows wasn't there last night. He sits up, wincing at the ache the motion prompts. He drains the water without pause, then grabs the pair of pants he'd discarded last night with the intention of pulling them on. He pauses when he sees the dark bruise on his hip, obviously a handprint; the sight of it pleases him, and he stares for several moments before pulling on the pants and staggering to the washroom.

Rinaldo and Hobson are sitting at the table when Daud makes it downstairs.

"Corvo left some porridge for you," Hobson says, sounding entirely unaffected as always.

Daud grunts his thanks and goes to get it.

Rinaldo's face is bright red when Daud sits down at the table and he's shovelling his food down at a frankly astonishing rate.

"Busy night?" Hobson asks; Rinaldo chokes.

"You could say that," Daud returns evenly, a bit too content to take offense at the moment.

"I could say a lot more," Hobson mutters, but refrains from doing so.

Corvo wanders in at that point, trailed by Thomas. The latter smiles brightly at Daud, which is almost more offensive than Rinaldo's steadfast avoidance, as Corvo takes the last chair. It scrapes loudly across the floor as Corvo drags it closer to Daud's, and he blinks slowly when Corvo presses his knee against Daud's.

But he presses back all the same.

* * *

Corvo follows him around for the rest of the day, sometimes as obviously as a pace behind and to the right, other times observing from a distance. Most of the Whalers glance at Corvo once or twice, then seem to put him out of their minds, or else they ignore his presence entirely.

And then there's Dimitri, who walks right up to Corvo on the second day of this and goes, "Congratulations, Lord Corvo."

"I'm not a lord," Corvo says automatically, then fixes Dimitri with an unnerving smile. For his part, Dimitri seems oblivious to the tension.

Daud takes the opportunity to slip away, confident that Aedan or someone else will bail Dimitri out before things get too out of hand, and goes to find Rulfio. He's the only one Daud can trust not to openly mock him like Hobson or give him sad looks like Thomas.

It's a bit unnerving to turn around and find Corvo _right there_ ; but Daud prefers that to finding Corvo lingering on the edges, pretending to be occupied. He isn't averse to spending more time with Corvo, certainly, but is it really necessary for Corvo to shadow him all the time?

Rulfio looks at him after Daud relates this to him, one eyebrow raised and just about as exasperated as Hobson would have been, except he doesn't actually say it aloud. What he does say is, "Apparently you've heard this before, but have you tried talking to him about it?" in an exaggeratedly patient tone that Daud resents.

Daud scowls but before he can tell Rulfio what he thinks of that, Corvo reappears. The worried line of his brow smoothes when he catches sight of Daud, his tensed posture visibly loosening.

Rulfio just looks at him again, then nods to Corvo and takes his leave.

Daud spends the rest of the day turning over what to say to Corvo in the back of his mind, interrupted briefly by an unfortunate incident involving the cows that Daud would rather forget and a much more pleasant interlude with Corvo that night.

He lasts almost a week before he snaps, turning abruptly only to find Corvo right behind him, stepping back smoothly to avoid a collision- but it's getting a little ridiculous.

"Corvo," Daud says, trying to keep his voice even; but Corvo's shoulder tense and he looks briefly apprehensive before his usual stoic expression returns. Daud exhales and glances around; the Whalers are studiously going about their various chores and not looking at the pair at all, but too many of them are well within earshot.

Daud scowls and sets off towards the sheep pasture, Corvo trailing dutifully behind him.

As far as Daud can tell from information gleaned while eavesdropping on the Whalers and his own occasional observations, everyone avoids the shed at the back of the property that Corvo has converted into a shrine to the Outsider.

He stops short of entering it because - while he's sure the creature is watching them in some capacity right now - he doesn't want the Outsider involved in this any more than he already is.

Corvo's hands are shoved into his pockets and his head is turned away- but he's obviously watching Daud out of the corner of his eye.

"Corvo," Daud says again, his voice coming out more naturally this time.

"What if something- happens to you when I'm not around," Corvo says quickly, his voice low. He hunches his shoulders, one hand moving in his pocket like he's cupping a certain object.

Daud winces, swallowing down his protests as he chooses his next words with care. "I don't need you to protect me," he says slowly. There's a comment about protecting each other on the tip of his tongue but it's so sappy and pathetic that it makes him vaguely nauseous even thinking it, much less uttering the words.

Besides, what kind of risk is there on this rundown vineyard in the middle of the Serkonan countryside anyway? All the Whalers who'd wanted to stay in the blood business remained in Dunwall, and no one else should have any reason to come after them.

"I  _know_ that," Corvo hisses, breaking the strained silence.

Daud makes a noncommittal sound and steps closer, until he's in Corvo's space and Corvo has to look at him or move away. Corvo tenses, but he remains where he is, a wary look in his eyes. He stiffens further when Daud presses their foreheads together, but he still doesn't move away and as Daud watches Corvo relaxes by slow degrees even as his face flushes a startling shade of red.

"Well, I appreciate the thought," Daud says, and Corvo smiles faintly.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about the cheesy ending too I'm sorry for everything 
> 
> if you made it this far, thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the wind through the vines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345559) by [plingo_kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat)
  * [[podfic] no one can ever follow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700627) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




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